


Blight's Shadow

by KrisPilar



Series: Tales of Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Friendship, Humor, Multi, Romance, Slow Burn Romance, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 00:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10708416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisPilar/pseuds/KrisPilar
Summary: After escaping Kinloch Hold, Aster planned to find and join the Dalish. Those plans are derailed when she encounters two Grey Wardens who plan to stop a rising Blight. Aster has always had a problem turning away from those who need help and soon finds herself joining up with them.





	1. A Crowded Village

**Author's Note:**

> Considering that all the origins happen but Duncan's presence determines the Warden sparked my idea 'What would happen if the mage survived her Harrowing, helped Jowan, and escaped with him?' And that led to her eventually to her joining the Wardens on their adventure. Hope you enjoy it!

At the time, Aster felt that she had no choice but to run with Jowan. She had tried to help him and his beloved Lily escape, to be free of vows and the threat of being Tranquil. She had wanted every bit of happiness for him that he could find. Then, they had been caught just as they were leaving the basement and the truth came out. The rumors about her closest friend had been true: Jowan was a blood mage.

She had been hurt, no, far worse than hurt. She was devastated. Betrayed. Jowan had been her closest companion in the tower. He had been practically her older brother, yet he lied. He swore he had never dabbled in blood magic and Aster had believed him. What reason did she have to not believe her closest friend? The man she shared late night secrets with. The man who kept her company when she hid in the library during thunderstorms that left her antsy and fearful. The friend who was always by her side, knew every moment of her life in the Amaranthine Alienage before she had come to Kinloch Hold. Who had been the first to greet Aster when she woke after her Harrowing and helped her move her few things to her new, private room one floor above. The friend who knew why Aster despised blood magic so much. To her, he would never turn to such a thing.

 She had trusted her closest friend until the moment he stabbed his own hand, using the power of his blood to disable three Templars (including Knight-Commander Greagoir) and First Enchanter Urving when they were about to be arrested. Every time Aster closed her eyes, memories of that moment came flooding back...

  _“Jowan!” Aster’s voice was shrill as she turned to her friend, “Jowan, you...I can’t believe it!”_

_“You’re a blood mage!” Lily’s voice shook in terror and sorrow. Aster could not imagine how the young woman must have felt when she learned her lover was involved in something so vile, so evil. She, herself, was trembling in disbelief and shock. How could she have been so wrong about someone?_

_“I...I’ll admit I dabbled,” Jowan said slowly. Pain shown in his own eyes—though from their reactions or the cut across the palm of his hand, Aster could not tell. Had she ever truly known the man she had spent the last twelve years learning beside?_

_“This looks more like just dabbling,” Aster said sharply, despite the despair she herself was feeling as she motioned to the still forms of three Templars and the First Enchanter, “What did you do to them?”_

_“They’re alive, do not worry,” Jowan said, though there was a bitterness in his voice as he glared at the Templars. The men who had come to make him Tranquil. The men Aster had helped Jowan escape from._

_“I have to go, they will wake in a few moments,” Jowan said, looking between Lily and Aster, “Please, will you come with me?” He took a cautioned step towards the woman in Chantry robes._

_“Stay away from me, blood mage!” Lily cried, stumbling backwards. Pain flashed across Jowan’s face again. A longing, troubled pain. He had lost Lily and he knew it._

_Jowan heaved a sigh, his extended hand lowering as his gaze became fixed on the floor. Without a word, he turned towards the Tower doors as a sudden thought went through Aster’s mind. She was standing here, in the company of a blood mage. She had helped him escape. When the Templars woke, they would simply see her as his accomplice. A mage who had just completed her Harrowing, already fulfilling the worst Thedas believed them to be. She would be executed—or made Tranquil herself._

_“Wait!” Aster hurried towards the man she had called a friend for years, “I’m coming with you.”_

_Jowan stared at Aster in shock. It was clear that this took him by surprise. After Lily had turned on him, he had not expected Aster to stay._

_“J-Just long enough to get somewhere safe,” Aster said slowly, glancing to the Templars, her entire body tense. Fear gripped her, causing her to tremble. “Once the Templars wake up, they’ll want someone to blame. I can’t take the fall for your mess.”_

_The words stung, Aster could see that. She opened her mouth to apologize but stopped herself. Jowan had lied to her, betrayed her. He knew how much she despised blood magic. He knew what it had done to her parents and he still chose to study it. That, above all else, was a betrayal that Aster did not know she could ever forgive. Maybe some of this showed in Aster’s face since Jowan’s expression hardened as he gave a small nod. Aster turned back towards Lily._

_“Will you come?” she asked softly, “If you don’t, they’ll—”_

_“I will accept my fate with dignity,” Lily said sharply, her gaze narrowing, “I am no coward.”_

_Aster flinched as if she had been slapped. Was she a coward? She knew she should stay. She should face her fate as Lily was. Yet, her fate terrified her. She did not want to die. She definitely did not want to be made Tranquil. If this made her a coward..._

_“We should get going,” Jowan said softly, resting a hand on Aster’s shoulder. She shoved it off quickly._

_“Then let’s go,” she said._

Now, Aster sat in a small tavern in an equally small village by the name of Lothering. She had parted ways with Jowan the moment she had the chance to. He said he was heading for Denerim, just in case she wished to look him up later. Aster doubted she would. Not after the betrayal he had served her. Then there was the fact that Aster was heading to the Brecilian Forest. An elf was not exactly welcome in most of Thedas and that would be even worse if they knew she was a mage. She had sold her Circle robes and staff shortly after parting ways with Jowan, finding a new set of clothes and a cloak, as well as dagger. Currently, both it and the cloak were in her travel pack at her feet. She would need to get supplies soon.

Not that she would find much in Lothering. The village was full to bursting with refugees fleeing the darkspawn to the south. Aster had known that a battle was coming in the ruins of a tower in Ostagar. Several of the Circle Mages—Senior Enchanter Wynne among them—had left to help. What Aster had not expected was to arrive in Lothering to learn that the battle had ended in disaster. King Calian had been killed, as well as most of his army and all but two of the Grey Wardens. Now, those two had been labeled as traitors. The soldiers looking for them claimed that the Wardens had King Calian to die. Aster found that hard to believe, however. She knew the stories of Grey Wardens. They were protectors, loyal to Thedas. They would not abandon a king of any region.

Aster glanced up as she heard the door to the tavern open and loud voices that seemed to carry over the conversations of refugees. Both were in full armor, the front of which was engraved with the symbol that told the men were from Loghain’s army. The soldiers looking for the ‘traitorous’ Wardens. Aster paid for her finished drink as she rose to her feet, heading out of the tavern. She never liked it when the soldiers were around. They were always loud and unruly.

Aster needed to find a new place to sleep than the crowded tavern. It was not the crowds that got to her but instead the thieves. Twice, she had woken up and had to snatch away her travel pack as someone tried to steal what little coin she had left from selling her staff the week before. She needed to find somewhere safer to rest her head tonight—if there was such a place.

As she walked, Aster fingered the small, crudely made metal ring that hung from leather around her neck—the only thing of her time before the Circle she had. The one reminder of the life that she lost within the span of a day, the life she still longed for all these years later. She still did not know why the Templars let her keep the necklace. Maybe because it was small and worthless, yet was very sentimental to the young elf that first walked through the doors of the tower. They allowed her to have that one small comfort. Aster was eternally grateful that she had been found by kind-hearted Templars. She was always more comfortable around the ones who cared about their charges, even if they could not show it openly.

Now, however, Aster was hoping not to have any sort of encounter with the Templars—or the soldiers there looking for the Wardens. She had made herself an apostate the moment she left the tower with Jowan. Aster would have much preferred life in the Circle, but when it came to the choice between being an apostate or death(or worse, Tranquility), Aster would rather be alive and a full person. So Aster was avoiding the Chantry where several Templars were usually gathered. When a Templar did rounds around the village, Aster kept her head down and avoided eye contact. She was simply another refugee fleeing the darkspawn.

The only problem with this was that Aster had a hard time ignoring people in need. It was one of the biggest reasons she had decided to help Jowan in the first place, aside from him being her closest friend. She could not stand by when someone she believed to be innocent would be made Tranquil. Even now that she knew he was a blood mage, Aster was still unsure she would have been able to leave him to the fate of a Tranquil. No one deserved that.

As Aster walked through the village, her attention was drawn towards an elderly woman among a group of injured. The woman was currently knelt next to a small child, working to bandage the boy’s arm. Aster’s heart ached to see so many in trouble, especially since she was so good with herbalism. She could help them.

Aster made her way over to the group, trying to ignore the two who looked to her ears and glared. She had grown used to her race not meaning much in the Circle. A mage was a mage, regardless of whether their ears were round or pointed. It was usually her eyes that drew attention from other mages—the left a dark brown, the right gray.

Outside of the Circle, however, was a different matter. Her race was what people cared most about. She was going to have to learn how to accept that.

“Excuse me?” Aster spoke up and the woman waved her off, not even looking from the boy she was tending.

“Just take a seat and I will get to you in time,” she said simply, “I take care of the more severe first and you don’t sound in pain.”

“N-no, that’s not...” Aster said awkwardly, then cleared her throat, “I was just wondering...Well, if you needed help. You look really busy and I’m good with herbs and can—”

“You want to help?” the woman looked up in surprise, though it quickly morphed into a grateful smile, “I will take all the help I can get. I’m running low on elfroot. You should be able to find some just outside the village.”

“Yeah, I can get you some,” Aster said, “I’ll bring them back by tonight and I can help make the poultices if you need.”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

The woman turned back to her work, a silent sign that the conversation was over. Aster glanced around at the people gathered one last time before turning and making her way to the edge of the village. It should not be too hard to find some elfroot, it was a common enough herb that seemed to grow nearly everywhere. She just needed to make sure not to trespass on any farms in her efforts.

Aster quickened her pace as she passed the cage the qunari was in, chanting softly to himself. She hated seeing anyone suffering the way he was. The first day she was in Lothering, she tried to speak to him and offer him some bread but he had refused, stating that he had accepted his fate. The similarity of what Lily had told her before she had escaped the Circle had unnerved Aster greatly. She took to avoiding eye contact and hurrying by every time she had to pass the cage after that and had not asked around to find out what he had done. She was not sure she wanted to know. Ignorance is bliss, as others would say.

The village gave way to fields and scattered trees as Aster glanced to the sky, wary of the clouds overhead. She did not like the idea of being out in the rain but at least she had a warm cloak in the pack slung across her back. She did not think she needed to go too far out to get elfroot. She could be back before any rain began to fall.

“Are you sure he’s still alive, Andrea?” a soft voice asked.

Aster paused in her search for a sprout of elfroot, glancing up. Two women were walking nearby, both unaware of Aster’s presence. They seemed related, both in simple dresses, both tall and lean with black hair—though one’s was long and straight, the other’s short and in a mess of curls around her face. Not wanting to eavesdrop, Aster dropped her head again, keeping her gaze locked on the ground for a patch of elfroot.

“He’s alive, don’t worry. You know how stubborn Carver is. How will he brag that he killed a hundred darkspawn by himself if he gets himself killed?”

Aster’s chest tightened, realizing these two must be speaking about a relative who had been at the battle in Ostagar. She glanced up again, watching the two pass by, the curly-haired woman still talking about the stubbornness of the man named Carver.

Aster turned back to her search, quickly finding the elfroot she needed. She quickly fished out her dagger and knelt down, deciding to use it to get clean cuts on the plant rather than tearing it from the ground. Though just as she had made the first cut, Aster heard a deep barking and looked up again.

Dogs in Ferelden were not uncommon but it was not something Aster was used to, living in the Circle. Looking around, she noticed a group of travelers were making their way towards the village. Two men—both blond—a woman with black hair, and a large dog—a mabari. They seemed to be arguing as they walked and Aster quickly ducked behind a nearby tree. Unlike the two women earlier, this group was armed. A lone elf was an easy target for bandits.

Aster peeked out from behind the tree. The taller man was dressed in heavy armor, sword at his side and shield on his back. As they drew closer, Aster noticed the shorter of the men was an elf—dressed in earthy-toned armor and a long pike strapped across his back. And across his face was a dark design of lines in an intricate pattern. Aster had never met one before but she knew what he was. He was Dalish.

“I don’t understand why you’re leaving this to me,” the Dalish was saying, his voice thick with an almost musical accent that Aster had never heard before, “You’re the senior Warden here.”

Wardens? Aster bit back a gasp. These must have been the two Wardens that the soldiers in the village were looking for.

“Yes, but I’m just as confused as you are,” the human male replied, “I’ve never been much of a leader anyway.”

“Will wonders never cease,” it was the woman who spoke with a roll of her eyes. Aster glanced towards her and noticed she was dressed in what looked like stitched-together straps of leather that left far too much skin revealed. Not very suitable clothes for Ferelden’s cold climate.

The mabari by the human’s side barked again and Aster tensed as she realized the dog was looking in her direction.

“What is it, Ched?” the human asked, looking towards the tree.

Aster tried to duck away but she knew she was spotted. She could hear the sound of a sword being pulled from its sheath and she scrambled for her dagger...Only to realize that it was laying several feet away next to the elfroot plant she had been cutting. She must have dropped it in her rush to hide when she first saw the group coming. She was defenseless, unless she relied on magic. Which was the last thing she wanted to do. She did not want to get into a fight.

“Who’s there?” the Dalish called, “I’ll give you one warning: come out peacefully or things will not end well for you.”


	2. Quick Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aster learns a bit about the Dalish.

“I won’t say it again,” the Dalish called, “Step out from where you’re hiding.”

Aster was trembling as she took a deep breath and ducked out of her hiding spot. The dark-haired woman had her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face but both men had their weapons drawn. The Dalish had the blade of his pike aimed towards Aster while the human had his sword drawn, his shield held in a position all-too-familiar to Aster. That was when she glanced to the symbol on the shield: the emblem of the Templars. This man may be a Grey Warden but it seemed he had once been a Templar. Aster felt her heart pounding in her chest, hard enough that the thumping seemed to rise to her ears as well.

“What are you doing hiding over there?” the Dalish spoke slowly and carefully.

“I...I’m just gathering herbs,” Aster said slowly, pointing to the cut elfroot and her dagger on the ground nearby.

“And that meant you needed to hide when people came around?” the human asked now.

“I thought you were bandits,” Aster admitted, wishing the pounding in her ears would settle.

The two men exchanged a look that Aster could not read and the dark-haired woman chuckled behind them.

“Such brave men,” she said sarcastically, “Here to protect us from an elf collecting herbs.”

The Dalish rolled his eyes, though a smirk formed on his face as he lowered his pike. The human male glared at the woman behind them as he slowly returned his sword to its sheath.  The dog by his side came up towards Aster and she tensed again as a wet nose hit against her trousers.

“Well, Ched seems to like her,” the human male said after a moment, “Mabari are great judges of character.”

“So you’ve said,” the Dalish replied, then turned to Aster, “Sorry if we startled you. What’s your name?”

“My...” Aster was still trying to recover. This group had switched from hostile to friendly so quickly, it left her a bit stunned. As the Dalish raised an eyebrow at her, Aster cleared her throat and tucked back some of her long, black hair behind her ear.

“I’m Aster,” she said, glancing to the mabari—Ched—who seemed to want her attention. Cautiously, she held her hand out towards the dog and he gave a bark before shoving his head against it. Aster could not help but grin slightly at that.

“I’m Atlan,” the Dalish replied, then motioned to his companions, “This is Alistair and Morrigan. And Ched has already decided to introduce himself.”

“He seems very sweet,” Aster said, patting the dog on the head before turning back to Atlan. The woman—Morrigan—was watching her warily but not saying anything. Aster felt heat creeping into her cheeks, unused to so much focus being on her.

“I...um, it would probably be best if you didn’t head into the village,” Aster said slowly, “I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re Grey Wardens—”

“Is that so?” Atlan was smirking again and Aster fidgeted. He was not making this easy.

“There are soldiers in the village,” she said quickly, “They claim that you left the king and his army to die at Ostagar. They’ve been asking around, intending to arrest you.”

“Why would you tell us this?” Atlan asked cautiously.

“I...I don’t believe the Grey Wardens would do such a thing,” Aster said softly, “I want to help, if I can.”

“And how can you help?” Morrigan asked sharply. Aster felt her face flush again.

“I can get supplies for you,” she said, “Help you hide away from the village, keep the soldiers from finding you.”

“And you must want something in return,” Morrigan replied, “Certainly you would not do this out of the kindness of your heart.”

Aster’s gaze narrowed at the woman.

“Actually, I would,” she said, “I don’t like to turn away from someone in need.”

Morrigan snorted at that, rolling her eyes.

Aster did not know how to respond to that. She looked back over to the two men, Atlan giving a sigh and Alastair shooting Morrigan a harsh glare.

“Is it really that difficult to accept that some people just wish to be nice?” he asked.

“’'Tis a rather naïve way to go through life,” Morrigan replied, “Anyone who does not expect something in return for their actions is a child and will be taken advantage of by others.”

“That’s rather harsh, Morrigan,” Atlan said, then turned to Aster, “We’ll welcome any help. Though one of us will have to accompany you. I do not intend to trust a stranger with our gold.”

Aster frowned, though she could not blame Atlan for being cautious.

“Which of you will come with me?” She asked, glancing towards Alistair, “You?”

“Me? No, I’m no good with haggling,” Alistair said, “I’d spend all our coin on cheese.”

“I’ll go,” Atlan said, “I know what we need to get.”

“Are you sure?” Alistair asked, “A Dalish will probably attract attention.”

“They’re looking for a well-armed Dalish traveling with an equally well-armed human,” Atlan said, “If I leave my weapon here and wear some sort of cloak, I think I’ll be able to pass through without much trouble.”

Aster frowned, biting at her lower lip. It was an idea that could work…

“I have a cloak in my pack,” she said, “You can borrow it. But first I do need to finish getting this elfroot for the healer in the village. I told her I’d have them for her by tonight.”

“Of course,” Atlan said, “That shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“Morrigan, Ched, and I will set up a camp not far from here,” Alistair said, “We’ll stay in sight of the King’s Road so you will be able the find us.”

Atlan nodded, watching as Morrigan and Alistair left with the mabari and Atlan’s pike. This left Aster alone with the Dalish Warden and Aster began to realize this was the first Dalish she ever truly met. She had, without thinking much through, planned to join the Dalish when she knew nothing about them. Meeting one was making Aster realize how foolish her plans had been, committing to this path without any foreknowledge.

It took barely an hour for the two elves to gather the herbs Aster had left Lothering for. Aster returned her dagger to her travel pack and pulled out her cloak for Atlan. He pulled it on over his Dalish armor and as he did so, Aster noticed a small, furry head poke its head out of Atlan’s pack.

“Um…Atlan?” Aster said slowly, “There’s…There’s a squirrel in your bag.”

“Hm?” Atlan looked over his shoulder, then chuckled, “That’s Vela, don’t worry.”

Aster stared as the squirrel disappeared back into the bag, Atlan pulling on the cloak over it.

“You…have a squirrel?”

“I found her when she was a baby,” Atlan said, starting along the road to the village, “She was sick, probably abandoned by her mother. I took her in and nursed to health and she’s refused to leave since.”

Atlan spoke about his pet with such gentleness and a smile on his face that made Aster smile herself.

“Do Dalish usually keep woodland creatures as pets?” she asked.

“Not usually, no,” Atlan said and Aster was beginning to notice more how his accent drew out the vowels in some words. “We tend to let nature be. Animals are meant to be free, the way Andruil intended. Vela is a special case.”

“Andruil?” Aster asked curiously, “I’ve heard that the Dalish have multiple gods. Is that one of them?”  

Atlan paused, glancing at Aster.

“You’re very curious about the Dalish, aren’t you?”

Aster blushed, fiddling with the bag of herbs in her hand as she kept walking, not wanting to idle.

“In truth, I’m here in Lothering only passing through,” she said, “I had this silly notion of trying to find a group to join. Elves aren’t that welcome among the humans.”

“I’ve noticed,” Atlan said, studying Aster, “We may be cautious with newcomers but we welcome anyone who wishes to return to the Old Ways.”

Aster hesitated at that thought. Another thing she had not considered about joining the Dalish was the fact that she would have to follow their religion. She was not sure how much of the Chant she believed—after all, there was very little for elves among them—but she was not sure she was willing to turn fully from the Maker in favor of the elven deities.

“I...I think I’d like to learn more about the Dalish before I commit to something like that,” she said.

“Wise,” Atlan replied, “A change that drastic...It is one you should be sure you will not regret.”

There was pain in Atlan’s voice as he said this and Aster could not help but wonder where it came from. She began to really think on the fact that he was Dalish, but now a Warden. How long had it taken him to decide to leave behind his life with his clan? Did he regret it?

They had reached the woman Aster was gathering the herbs for and Atlan had no problem with letting Aster spend a few minutes helping the woman mix the poultices. In fact, he helped with some himself. When they left, Aster told Atlan about the qunari in the cage they had passed while still talking about Dalish life. He seemed thoughtful over it, glancing back over his shoulder towards the cage.

“You said someone in your Chantry might know more about him?” Atlan asked as they were nearing an area that had turned into a makeshift marketplace between the Chantry and tavern. Aster noticed the dark-haired sisters were arguing over prices with a narrow-faced man until a red-haired woman in Chantry robes came over to intervene.

“We can ask,” Aster said slowly, “Why?”

“Well, Alistair and I are only two Wardens,” Atlan said, “We can’t exactly take on the darkspawn on our own. We could use any help we can get.”

“You’re going to conscript the qunari?” Aster asked in surprise, pausing next to a stand selling various articles of clothing. Atlan seemed to think it over, then shook his head.

“Not if I don’t have to,” he said, “ I don’t want anyone knowing who I am. But we could use help.”

“Do you need only fighters?” Aster asked before she even realized she was thinking it. Atlan watched her closely.

“You’re already helping us get supplies,” he said, “You don’t have to do anything else.”

“Yes, but you’re doing something important,” Aster said, “And you have to admit, you’re not going to get much help when the country thinks you’re a traitor. I’m not much of a fighter, but I’m willing to learn. And I’m good with herbs—”

“You really want to come along, don’t you?” Atlan cut in with a chuckle.  Aster felt her face grow warm for probably the tenth time in the past two hours. She was not good with people.

“I want to help,” Aster said softly. Plus, Alistair was a Templar, or used to be one. Aster had wanted to avoid them to keep from being captured as an apostate. In truth, she always felt much safer around them. The chance to be around one who was not in the service of the Chantry was a chance she was not going to get again.

“I will prove myself,” Aster said, “Please. I can’t just sit by and do nothing.”

“I guess beggars can’t be choosers, as the shemlen seem to say,” Atlan said with a chuckle, “Very well. Even if you can’t fight, I’m sure we could use your skills as an herbalist. I saw you working with that woman earlier, you’re not bad.”

“I’ve...had a lot of time to learn,” Aster admitted. She had always been drawn to herbology, books on the subject usually ending up her first pick to read in the library.

“And I’ll learn to fight,” Aster said, hoping she hid the reluctance in her voice. She did need to learn to defend herself, especially without magic. In the back of her mind, she knew she should tell them. They were outlaws themselves, it would not matter if she was a mage among them. Yet, the idea of not having her magic define her was oddly comforting. She wanted to see what it would be like. She wanted to be normal.

“We’ll have to find you some armor, then,” Atlan said, “For now, however, we need basic supplies.”

They spent several hours gathering what Atlan said they would need for a long travel. Vela would poke her head out whenever Atlan went to put something in his pack. Aster noticed he was not placing any of the food there, instead leaving it for her to carry.

“I don’t think we’ll find any bedrolls,” Aster said, “The village is already full to bursting and we’re lucky we managed to get as much dried meat and vegetables as we did.”

“We still need to get you a sword,” Atlan said, studying Aster closely, “I’m sure Alistair will be willing to teach you to use it.”

Aster nodded, figuring a sword would be better. Learning to use something like a pike would be too similar to a staff and Aster had not been able to quite get the feel of her staff in the Tower. It always felt too heavy, too awkward to balance. Plus, she kept somehow tripping herself with it. A mage who was bad with a staff, who would have imagined?

“What about armor?” she asked.

“We’ll figure something out,” Atlan said, “Don’t worry. For now, we should find the Revered Mother. I think we have all the supplies we can get here.”

“Excuse me.”

Aster and Atlan both turned to see the red-haired Chantry woman had approached them. Behind her, the two dark-haired sisters were heading down the road—though the curly-haired one kept looking back over her shoulder, her gaze always going to the Chantry Sister.

“Is something wrong, Sister?” Aster asked.

“No, no, I just couldn’t help but overhear you,” the woman said and Aster noticed she had a very noticeable Orlesian accent. “The Revered Mother is very busy, but I can bring you to speak with her.”

Atlan did not look too thrilled to learn that someone had eavesdropped—even by accident. Aster, however, thought it would be a good idea to get done in Lothering quickly. A comment she made clear to Atlan in a low whisper.

“And what if we can’t trust her?” Atlan asked just ask quietly.

“What do you mean?” Aster replied.

“You said people are looking for us. Who’s to say that she’s not some hired assassin?”

Aster glanced to the red-haired woman. She was watching them with a smile, hands folded together in front of her. Somehow, Aster could not see this woman as an assassin.

“The soldiers looking for you have been very loud and public with their search,” Aster said instead, “I don’t think they’d send an assassin as well.”

Atlan did not look too convinced, though he glanced to the woman waiting on them and sighed.

“Well, we won’t be unarmed,” Atlan said, much to Aster’s confusion as he turned fully to the Chantry Sister, “Will you at least introduce yourself?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” the woman said with a pleasant smile, “I am Leliana.”

“I’m Aster,” Aster introduced herself, then motioned to Atlan, “And this is—”

“You said you could introduce us to your...Revered Mother?” Atlan cut in, seeming unsure of the title.

Aster gave him a confused look, then a thought dawned on her. If these soldiers looking for the Wardens had their descriptions, they most likely had their names as well. It would not do well for Atlan’s name to be known.

“Yes, of course,” Leliana said, “Please, just follow me.”

Leliana turned and started for the Chantry. Atlan adjusted his cloak around his shoulders. Aster noticed he was studying the Chatry building warrily, as if he did not treasure the thought of going. Aster was about to ask about it, but Atlan spoke again before she could.

“I think it might be better if I do this alone,” he said, “Why don’t you finish up here and meet me at the edge of the village?”

“But…” Aster glanced to where Leliana had stopped and was watching them yet again. “But what if this is a trap?”

“Then I will be ready,” Atlan replied, “I didn’t leave my only weapon with Alistair, after all.”

Atlan paused to pull a bag of coin from his pocket and handed it to Aster, instructing her to buy a sword and giving her pointers on finding the right one. After that, he turned and went off after Leliana, leaving Aster alone in the marketplace. As Aster watched them leave, she could not help but think that her life was going to become a lot more complicated very soon.


	3. Get To Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the group tries to learn about each other.

A sword was far heavier than Aster had thought it would be. The long bit of metal hung at her hip, the weight tugging at the belt just as much as the weight of the ‘supposedly’ light armor she now wore—thick leathers with a chainmail under-layer. She was told it was flexible enough for a beginning fighter. She just hoped she could get used to the weight soon.

Atlan returned not long after Aster was done with getting her equipment. The qunari was with him, as well as the Chantry Sister. She had traded her Chantry robes for a set of thick leather armor with the Chantry symbol engraved on the undershirt and she now had a bow slung across her back. Aster did not know what to be more surprised by; the fact that the Revered Mother had allowed the qunari to go free or the fact that a Chantry Sister would now be traveling with them.

“Looks like you found yourself some armor,” Atlan said, approaching Aster and studying her, “You did okay. Especially with so little instruction.”

“Thanks,” Aster said, glancing to Leliana and the qunari, “I see you talked the Revered Mother into helping.”

“Oh, yes,” Atlan said, glancing to the others, “Leliana convinced me she’s good enough with a bow to bring along. And the qunari is Sten. We’ll find him a weapon and armor later. I was told I could release him as long as we left the village immediately afterward.”

“Oh,” Aster said slowly, “Um, it’s nice to meet you, Sten.”

Sten’s gaze narrowed as he looked to Aster, studying her closely.

“You’re that refugee who offered me bread,” he said simply. Aster felt heat rise to her face, not sure she was pleased with a caged qunari recognizing her.

“Y-yeah,” she said. Sten merely nodded and did not elaborate further.

“Well, we should get going,” Atlan said, “Alistair said they’d be camping within sight of the King’s Road.”

As the four started along the road, the little squirrel, Vela, came out from Atlan’s bag and perched herself on Atlan’s shoulder. He reached up and scratched her on the head, almost as if it were instinct to him now. Aster wondered what it would be like, having a pet that shared such a bond with their owner.

“I take it you have not been in many fights?” Leliana asked, coming up beside Aster and startling her. She turned quickly, then tried to wish away the flush of embarrassment in her cheeks. She had always been easy to fluster.

“You seem awkward in your armor,” Leliana went on, “You keep fiddling with the straps and adjusting your sword. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll grow used to it in time.”

“I hope so,” Aster said, “I want to be able to help.”

“There are ways to help without endangering yourself,” Leliana pointed out.

“But I still would like to be able to defend myself,” Aster replied, “Atlan said Alistair would be willing to teach me swordsmanship.”

“I can teach you if he doesn’t,” Leliana offered, “I know quite a lot about bows and daggers.”

That surprised Aster. Fighting skills were not exactly what she expected from a Lay Sister in the Chantry.

“Why are you coming along?” Aster asked, “Wouldn’t you want to stay at the Chantry?”

“I knew it was my time to move on,” Leliana replied vaguely, then pointed ahead of them, “Oh, is that the camp?”

Aster glanced up. A few tents were barely visible just within the tree line near the King’s Road. Anyone looking for it would know it was there, but those just traveling could easily overlook it. Aster would not have seen it at all if Leliana had not pointed it out.

“Looks like it,” Atlan said. Apparently, he had been listening to the conversation behind him.

Aster fidgeted as she followed the others into the trees and glanced around at the camp that Alistair and Morrigan had set up. There were a couple of tents grouped close together, just far enough from a small fire to be safe from embers. Aster noticed Alistair was sitting by the fire, the mabari next to him with his head rested on the human’s lap while accepting bites of cheese Alistair gave him. At first, Aster did not see Morrigan, then noticed a tent and small fire further away from the camp and Morrigan sitting on her own.

“I hope you haven’t eaten all the cheese, Alistair,” Atlan said as he dropped his pack by a log before sitting down. Alistair looked like he was going to make some retort, then noticed the group who had come with Atlan.

“I feel like this is the start of some joke,” he said, “A qunari, human, and elf follow a Dalish into the woods...”

“We need the help,” Atlan said, “You know Aster already, the sh—human woman is Leliana, and the qunari is Sten.”

“Isn’t that a Chantry symbol?” Alistair asked, pointing to Leliana’s armor as she sat down. Aster sat a bit awkwardly by the Sister, her armor still stiff. Sten seemed content standing by the trees, staring off into the woods as if he were taking watch.

“She was one of the Sisters in Lothering,” Aster said.

“Lay Sister,” Leliana corrected, “I never took vows.”

“There’s a difference?” Atlan asked, then seemed to think better of wanting to learn the inner workings of the Chantry, “Well, it doesn’t matter. The point is she’s proven to be good with a bow and your Revered Mother agreed to release Sten into my command. Aster here is quite good with herbs and says she’s willing to learn to fight, if you will teach her, Alistair.”

“Me?” Alistair asked in surprise. Aster felt her face flush again. She hated how easy she was to fluster.

“We agreed swordsmanship would be better than a pike like Atlan uses,” Aster said, “But only if you’re willing to teach.”

“I’ve never been much of a teacher...” Alistair said slowly, “Not sure I’ll be any good.”

“You don’t have to—”

“No, no, I’ll help,” Alistair said, “I’m just warning you that you might be better off learning from a tree.”

“You’re better than you think you are, Alistair,” Atlan said. Little Vela was on his shoulder still, accepting some sort of nut he was offering her. “I’ve seen you fight.”

“High praise from a Dalish,” Aster said, “I’ve always heard that you’re not very fond of humans.”

“And I’ve always been told you flat-ears enjoy living in the shadows of the shemlen,” Atlan replied sharply.

Aster flinched. She had not realized what she had said could be offensive. She had definitely not meant it that way.

“I...I didn’t mean it like that,” she muttered.

“Maybe we should agree to let this go?” Leliana spoke up as Atlan looked as if he were about to say something else, “It seems this was a simple mistake, after all.”

“If you truly wish to learn more about the Dalish, Aster,” Atlan said, “Then know that we do not all hate humans but we are very cautious to trust them given our history.”

“The story of the Dales is one of my favorites,” Leliana said, “About how the elves of old aided Andraste—”

“Now _you’re_ about to tell me about my own history?” Atlan asked darkly.

Leliana’s smile faded as she realized she was about to step into the same hole that Aster was now in right after trying to stop the very situation.

“Well, now that everything is all nice and awkward...” Alistair said, “Can I ask who’s taking care of supper tonight?”

Atlan glared at his fellow Warden, pulling Vela off his shoulder as the squirrel began to nuzzle into his fingers.

“I can put something together,” Leliana offered.

“Good, because I cooked last time and I don’t trust Morrigan,” Alistair said cheerfully, then turned to Aster, “When do you want to start some sword training?”

“Now is as good as any,” Atlan answered for Aster, “The sooner you can defend yourself, the better. It’ll also let you get used to that armor.”

“And here I hoped to have the night off,” Alistair sighed, though he moved Ched’s head off his leg and stood up, “All right, Aster, coming?”

Aster nodded, getting up herself. She was not looking forward to this, but it was something she knew she needed to learn.

* * *

By the time darkness fell, Aster was exhausted. Her entire body ached and the palms of her hands were rubbed raw from using her sword. She was trembling as she sat by the fire, allowing Leliana to wrap her hands in bandages lined with an elfroot poultice.

“You’ll adjust in time,” Leliana said, “Soon using a sword will be second nature to you.”

Aster nodded, staring at her hands. She could easily just pull a little of the Fade around them to heal her hands but that would lead to questions from the others. She wanted to see what it was like to live without magic, to be seen as someone other than a mage. She should not risk everything just to heal her hands when, as Leliana said, they would be back to normal on their own.

“Speaking of practice,” Atlan said, sitting next to Aster as Leliana turned back to the meal she was cooling—some sort of vegetable stew, “I saw you practicing with your bow earlier. When I was in Ostagar, I got the impression your Chantry members were not fighters. How did you learn to use a bow like that?”

“I didn’t always live in the Chantry,” Leliana said, “You tend to pick up certain skills when you travel, yes?”

“How did you end up in Lothering?” Alistair asked, “You sound Orlesian.”

“I did live in Orlais for a many years,” Leliana said, “I worked as a bard, entertaining nobles with songs and stories.”

“You were an Orlesian bard?” Alistair asked in a tone of mixed curiosity and excitement. Aster could not help but be curious as well. Many of the fictional books in the Circle library featured Orlesian bards and fueled the rumors that spread around them.

“For a time,” Leliana said, “I’ve collected many stories and I’ll be willing to share them, if you’d like.”

“I’ll bet you have some stories,” Alistair said.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t play coy!” Alistair leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he smirked at Leliana, “We all know the rumors about Orlesian bards.”

“I think I’m missing something here,” it was Atlan who spoke now, a confused look on his face, “What are you talking about?”

“The bards of Orlais have a certain...reputation,” Aster said, absentmindedly flexing her fingers. It hurt. A lot. “They’re considered spies and assassins.”

“Not all bards are spies,” Leliana said simply.

“What about you?” Aster asked curiously.

“I don’t think it’s any of our concern,” Atlan said.

Everyone glanced towards him and Aster noticed Leliana looked a bit relieved. It was clear she did not want to talk about her past. The reluctance itself was a clear sign that Alistair’s theories might be true.

The group fell quiet until the meal was done cooking. Even Morrigan came over from her private camp, though she still sat some distance away from the others.

“Why did you two decide to become Grey Wardens?” Leliana asked once everyone had a bowl of stew. Aster found it awkward to hold the bowl and the spoon with her bandaged hands.

“It wasn’t a choice,” Atlan said and there was a bitterness edging into his voice “I had been infected with the Blight. If I hadn’t have joined the Wardens, I would have died.”

A silence fell over the group and Aster fidgeted a little. She could understand leaving something without a choice because it meant being able to continue living. It was very similar to her own situation.

“Do you regret it?” Aster asked softly.

“I don’t regret getting to live,” Atlan replied, “And the Blight must be stopped. Otherwise, all will fall. Including my clan.”

Aster nodded. She understood that as well. She was grateful to be alive but that did not mean there were not nights she wondered if she could have stayed. If she could have somehow avoided becoming Tranquil and continue to live her life in the Circle like a normal mage.

“What about you, Alistair?” Leliana asked, looking to the human Warden, “How did you join the Wardens?”

Alistair suddenly looked uncomfortable, poking at his stew.

“I was training to be a Templar. Not by choice,” he added, and for some reason, he glanced towards Atlan, who shrugged.

“I think I’ve proven I’m skilled enough to hold up against you.”

“You’re a mage?” Leliana asked, straightening some as she stared at Atlan. Aster perked as well as she looked to the Dalish Warden. She would have never guessed this man was a mage.

“I was Second to my Keeper,” he said, “I might have one day managed to become First if it weren’t for what happened.”

“Second? First?” Aster asked, “What does that mean?”

“Apprentices,” Atlan replied, “The First would become the Keeper when the time came, and then I would become the new First to her. But we were talking about Alistair here, not me. I already told my story.”

“Gee, thanks,” Alistair muttered. Aster got the impression that he had been quite happy to have the attention off his own past, “Not much to tell, anyway. I was raised in the Chantry until I was given to the Templars. I trained with them until Duncan recruited me into the Wardens. That was a year ago and now I’m here.”

There was an odd pain in Alistair’s voice when he mentioned the man named Duncan. Aster was not usually that observant, but even she knew grief when she heard it. Atlan seemed to know the story behind it, for he started frowning.

“ _Ir abelas_ , Alistair,” Atlan said, “I should have remembered—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Alistair said, “We go into the Wardens knowing that one day we’ll die. Duncan knew those risks as well as we do.”

The group fell silent again, aside from Morrigan giving an unladylike snort nearby. Aster glanced over towards the woman, her back to the rest of the group as she ate alone. She had not spoken with her yet, but she was not sure she liked the woman. At least Sten, the qunari, stayed quiet in his opinions.

“Well, since we’re all sharing stories,” Atlan spoke up after a moment, “What about you, Aster? How did you end up in Lothering?”

Aster fidgeted a little. Lying had never been a particularly good skill of hers. The biggest lies she ever told were telling Templars that no, she had not seen a certain mage when they were indeed hiding around the corner with someone else. She doubted the Templars ever believed her, but they at least humored her. The fact that she had not even been able to help Jowan without drawing suspicions was enough proof of how bad her lying capabilities were.

“I...Well, I already told you why, Atlan,” Aster said slowly.

“No, you told me that you had a ‘silly notion’ to join the Dalish,” Atlan replied, “You never said why.”

Aster knew Atlan was just repeating her own words, but it still brought heat to her face. She poked at her stew, not looking at the others.

“Elves aren’t too welcome in most places,” she said.

“Again, something you have already pointed out.”

“I think this is something she does not want to talk about, yes?” Leliana spoke up, “You were willing enough to give me that courtesy, don’t you think you should extend it to her as well?”

Aster glanced up to Leliana, managing a small smile. She was grateful not to have to come up with some story. She was no good with lies.

“And what about Morrigan?” Leliana asked. The dark-haired woman turned to them with a sharp glare.

“I will not indulge in your foolish attempts of ‘bonding,’” she said, “I am quite happy keeping my life to myself.”

“Her mother is Asha’bellanar,” Atlan said, smirking as Morrigan’s glare focused solely on him, “And she lived out in the middle of the wilds before her mother sent her to travel with us.”

“What’s Asha...Whatever that was?” Aster asked. She had never heard that term before.

“Woman of many years,” Atlan said, “There are many stories about her among the Dalish. I’ve learned that your kind call her Flemeth.”

Aster choked on her stew and Leliana raised an eyebrow disbelievingly.

“Flemeth?” she asked, looking to Morrigan as she straightened some, “ _The_ Flemeth of legend?”

“She has never referred to herself as such,” Morrigan said as she rose to her feet, then to Atlan, “And if you continue to share stories about my life, you shall likely wake up tomorrow with a toadstool for a head.”

Morrigan turned with that, marching off towards her solo tent. Atlan did not seemed bothered at all by the threat. In fact, he was chuckling to himself. Aster could not help but think the Dalish had to be insane. Why else would he find it so amusing to tease one of the infamously deadly Witch of the Wilds?


	4. First Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aster puts her sword lessons to the test, and learns more about the Dalish Warden.

Two days on the road and Aster thought she had never been so sore.  When she was making her way to Lothering, she was able to stop and rest whenever she liked. With a large group, however, they were following the pace of their leader. Atlan was obviously used to far more travel.

Then there was the fact that both nights, as soon as they set up camp, Alistair was giving Aster lessons in swordsmanship. By the time darkness fell and it was time to sleep, Aster was often unconscious shortly after laying on her bedroll and would wake up very sore and aching the next morning.

At least her hands were finally beginning to adjust. By the third day, she could already feel the calluses forming and it was becoming less painful to hold and swing the sword. She was even beginning to adjust to her armor, finding a comfortable way to move around. Maybe she could manage this after all.

Breaks were rare, but very welcome to Aster. She was very eager for lunch when they grouped together in the shade of trees, well away from the Imperial Highway. Atlan said a group of well-armed people traveling the roads would attract too much attention.

“It’ll take another ten days, maybe two weeks, to reach Redcliffe like this,” Alistair said once everyone was settled with bits of bread and cheese. Not a very big lunch, compared to what Aster was used to. She missed full meals at the Circle. “We could have been over half way by now if we took the Imperial Highway.”

“We’ve already talked about why we can’t be on the roads,” Atlan pointed out, “It doesn’t matter if the roads are a faster route. Besides,” Atlan broke off a piece of his cheese, handing it to Vela waiting eagerly on his shoulder, “Redcliffe is one of your protected villages, yes? It won’t matter when we reach there.”

Alistair did not looked pleased with that. Aster wanted to ask why he seemed so eager to go to Redcliffe, and why they were going there at all, when Ched suddenly launched himself forward and disappeared into the trees. Aster wondered if he had seen a rabbit.

“Ched, what’re you doing?” Alistair rose to his feet, staring after his mabari, “Cheddar, get back here!”

Aster stared after Alistair in disbelief, a piece of bread halfway to her mouth. She slowly turned to look at the others.

“He...named his mabari after a cheese?” She asked in disbelief. Atlan gave a shrug.

“Must be a shem—” he cut off, glancing to Morrigan and Leliana, “Human thing.”

For someone who claimed to have no hostility towards humans, Aster noticed that Atlan tended to refer to them as ‘shemlens.’ He was often catching himself in it and correcting himself. Aster once asked what the term meant, and Atlan had told her it was an old elvish term for humans back in the time when elves were believed to be immortal.

“’Tis not a ‘human thing’,” Morrigan said bitterly, “Alistair is merely uncreative.”

Atlan chuckled, though the smile faded quickly as Alistair shouted for help nearby. Instantly, Atlan was on his feet, grabbing his pike and hurrying away. Aster was amazed at how silently he moved, disappearing into the shadows.

Leliana had moved just as quickly, just as silently. In an instant, she, too, had vanished into the shadows, bow in hand. Sten simply gave a low noise that sounded like a growl and remained in his seat. Morrigan rolled her eyes and remained sitting as well.

“Y-you’re not going to help?” Aster asked slowly. She was starting to get up, but had been surprised at the others’ decision.

“Why should we?” Morrigan asked, “Alistair has most likely lost that mabari and I have no desire to abandon my food to hunt for that mutt.”

Aster glared at them, but hurried off after Atlan and Leliana. Unlike them, she had no subtlety  and no stealth to her movements. She crashed through the bushes, branches scratching against her face and armor. Just as she caught sight of Atlan ahead—pike swinging in an arch towards something—Aster’s foot caught on an unearthed root and she yelped as she fell face-first into the dirt.

Groaning, Aster pushed herself to her knees. As soon as she leaned back to a squat, she heard a whizzing noise and an arrow sunk into the ground just inches in front of her. Right where her head had been a moment earlier. A sickening cold slowly washed through her as she looked up and realized the battle that was happening in front of her.

They were on the Imperial Highway now. A druffalo-drawn wagon was blocked by a fallen tree and Aster caught a glimpse of two dwarves within the wagon. She did not get to look long, however, for another arrow dug into the ground next to her. Aster scrambled to her feet, backing away as she struggled to pull her sword from its sheath. It did not want to come loose.

Atlan and Alistair were back-to-back nearby, facing off against bandits. For a slit second, Aster thought she could see ice wrap around the end of the pike Atlan was using. Nearby, Leliana was half-hidden among shadows, unleashing arrow after arrow into the fight and Ched was dragging away a bandit by the arm. Another bandit held a bow in hand and was resting on a hill nearby. He had been the one to fire on Aster, obviously finding her an easy target.

Aster was trembling now, finally managing to free her sword. She heard a yell and turned to see a bandit hurrying towards her, his own sword raised. She let out a cry, raising her sword on instinct and felt her knees buckle as the enemy’s sword collided with hers. She stumbled backwards, her heart hammering in her chest so hard that she was sure the bandit could hear it as loudly as she did.

A couple evenings of practice was no match against a skilled bandit. It was all Aster could do to block his attacks with her own sword and stumble around, hoping her movements did not start to become too slow. Every instinct yelled at her to call to the Fade, pull what she could around her to protect herself or paralyze the man trying to attack her. She could not concentrate, however. She knew the second she took her focus off parrying this man’s attacks, she would not be able to block the next.

The man suddenly became encased in ice, freezing him into a statue. Aster stared, sword still raised where she had blocked an attack as she began to wonder if she had attacked with magic subconsciously. A moment later, a pike sank into the bandit’s back and Aster watched as he fell to the ground, Atlan standing behind him.

“Are you injured?” Atlan asked.

Aster did not reply, her gaze locked on the frozen, still form of the bandit at her feet. She had never been in a fight like this, never killed and never seen someone dead. Even when helping Jowan in the Tower, they had only battled possessed statues. During her Harrowing, it had merely been a demon. Not a living person.

Aster jumped as a hand rested on her shoulder. She looked up to see Alistair had joined Atlan now, watching Aster with concern.

“It’s okay,” he said, “They’re all dead now.”

“Dead...” Aster whispered, looking around. A half-dozen men lay dead across the road around them. Leliana was nearby, pulling arrows from the bodies as Ched followed her, his stub of a tail wagging energetically. Atlan and Alistair both stood in front of Aster, blood smearing their armor and weapons. Real blood. The blood of the men around them.

Aster’s legs gave way under her as she collapsed, her sword falling from her hand. Alistair and Atlan both moved quickly, catching her before she hit the ground and helping her to down.

“Are you all right, Aster?” Alistair asked, concern in his voice.

“It’s normal to be faint after your first battle,” Atlan added, “Just breathe. It’ll pass.”

Aster nodded, taking a slow, shaky breath. She tried not to look around again, instead focusing on Alistair and Atlan in front of her. It was slowly sinking in that it had to have been Atlan who had frozen the bandit. He had attacked from behind to save Aster.

“Th-thank you,” Aster managed, “I...I don’t know how much longer I could have kept that up. You saved me.”

Atlan nodded, rising to his feet and holding his hand out to Aster. “Can you stand?”

Aster was quiet for a moment, then nodded and let Atlan help her up. Alistair picked up the sword Aster had dropped and held it out to her with a small smile.

“Looks like I’m not such a bad teacher after all,” he said.

Aster could not help but smile as she took the sword with a trembling hand. Slowly, she returned it to the sheath on her belt and looked over to see Leliana talking to one of the dwarves who owned the wagon. She turned and noticed the others watching and then said something to the dwarf before coming over to the group.

“The dwarf’s name is Bodhan,” Leliana said, “And he has offered an interesting proposition. We saved him from these bandits and now he wishes to travel with us.”

Atlan frowned at that.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he said. Leliana smiled at them.

“I disagree,” she said, “If we agree to allow Bodhan to travel with us, we will be able to travel along the roads without much problem.”

“What do you mean?” Aster asked. The idea of not having to trek through woods anymore was appealing.

“A group of armed men and women on their own will be suspicious,” Leliana said, “But if we are traveling in the company of a trader with his wares, people will assume we are a group of mercenaries, hired to protect Bodhan. We can travel the roads without being suspected of being bandits ourselves.”

“Does he know who we are?” Atlan asked slowly, glancing towards the dwarves nearby.

“No, I figured it was best for you to tell him,” Leliana said, “That is, if we agree to allow him to travel with us.”

Atlan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leaned on his pike. He was quiet for a moment, then shook his head.

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” he muttered, then looked to the others, “I still think this is a bad idea, but I will talk to him.”

* * *

They still chose to camp well away from the road that night. Bodhan was a welcome addition, however. Thanks to his supplies, they now had access to more tents and proper bedrolls, as well as more supplies of food. Bodhan also had a very fine selection of armor and weapons—Bodhan’s words there—and even managed to pull up something large enough for Sten’s massive form.

The second dwarf traveling with Bodhan turned out to be his son. He was a quiet boy, but apparently very skilled in enchanting. He was also very cheerful and excitable, which Aster learned when she tried to talk with him.

“Enchantment!” was the boy’s response when Aster tried to ask how he was doing that afternoon.

Aster grinned softly, settling on the ground next to Sandal, resting her sword across her legs.

“You really enjoy your work, don’t you?” Aster asked. It was a refreshing change from the Tranquil, who always did their work with blank faces and quiet focus.

“Enchantment?” Sandal pointed to the sword lying across Aster’s lap.

“No, it’s not enchanted,” Aster said, looking down to the blade, “I’m still getting used to fighting.”

Sandal frowned at that, looking upset. Aster gave him a small smile.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said, “When I get used to this sword and find a good rune, I’ll come to you for an enchantment. How’s that?”

Sandal laughed, bouncing on the spot and clapping his hands.

“Enchantment!”

“Seems like Sandal likes you.”

Aster glanced up to see Bodhan had come over. She smiled up at him.

“He’s a sweet boy,” she said, moving to stand up, her sword in her hands.

“I’ve always thought so,” Bodhan said fondly, coming over and putting his arm around the shoulders of his son, “He’s cautious of strangers, but he likes you well enough. Consider yourself lucky.”

“I will,” Aster said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to come over and talk sometime. Even if he’s not much of a talker himself.”

“Nice lady!” Sandal said cheerfully. Bodhan chuckled.

“I think he’ll like that,” Bodhan said.

Aster nodded, turning and heading back towards the main camp. Atlan was sitting on a log by the fire, cleaning his pike after the battle they had that morning. Seeing the pike brought back those memories, the terror of the battle. It made Aster feel sick. She was about to turn and head away but Atlan looked up and noticed her.

“Do you need something?” he asked.

“Oh, n-no,” Aster said slowly, looking quickly away from the pike, “I was just...”

Atlan seemed to sense the problem anyway. He moved, laying the pike on the ground beside him and motioned for Aster to come sit down.

“Come talk,” he said, “We haven’t had much time for that, have we?”

“I guess not,” Aster muttered.

She did not want to be rude, so she moved to sit on a log near Atlan’s but not close beside him. Despite three days of traveling together, Aster had spent the days talking with Leliana and Alistair, and evenings training with the sword. Atlan’s time was mostly spent with Morrigan, which did not do much for Aster’s thought that the Dalish had a bit of a death wish.

“You handled yourself well this morning,” Atlan said, “That was your first time in a battle, wasn’t it?”

Aster thought back to her Harrowing, to the sentinels she had fought helping Jowan. That morning had not been the first time she had been in a fight for her life, but the first time she had the very real possibility of taking an actual life. Not one of a demon or possessed statue.

“Y-yes,” Aster said slowly, looking down at her hands. They were beginning to toughen up now, and this was the first night she felt she did not need the elfroot wraps.

  “ _Ir abelas_ ,” Atlan said softly, “But if you truly intend to travel with us, it is something you will have to grow used to.”

Aster nodded. She knew Atlan was right. She was here to help, to learn to fight. She could not let herself break down in battle.

“I threw up the first time I was in combat.”

Aster looked up in surprise as Atlan smiled at her. He was a Warden, a Dalish warrior. All the stories she heard about both made them out to be legendary warriors who never backed down. Seeing Atlan and Alistair fight that morning had only seemed to reinforce those legends.

 “I was sixteen, not yet received my vallaslin,” Atlan motioned to the intricate designs along his forehead, nose, cheeks, and even along his chin, “We had just set up a camp and planned to stay for a few months, but there was rumors of Templars nearby, hunting for a young mage who had escaped from one of your ‘Circles’.”

Atlan paused, scratching Vela on the head as she perched herself on his shoulder, chattering away. His gaze had grown distant now, staring off into the trees. Aster wanted to tell him that he did not have to talk about this but she could not seem to find her voice. She could not help but think about the foolish plan she had when she escaped from the Circle. She had planned to find the Dalish. It would be any elf’s dream, probably. Did all Templars go looking for Dalish camps if an elven mage escaped?

“I had wanted to come along, to help scare away these shemlen that might come to close to our clan,” Atlan said, “The hunters and our Keeper all said it was not a good idea. I was a mage, and these Templars do not look fondly on those with my abilities. I did not listen and followed them anyway.”

Atlan shook his head slowly.

“I was cocky,” Atlan said, “And angry. I had been turned down as my Keeper’s First in favor of a young girl who had come from another clan. I became determined to prove myself. If I could not be First, I would be a strong _Dirth’ena enasalin_. I would bring back warriors of old.”

“You’d be a what?” Aster asked softly.

“It’s a bit hard to translate,” Atlan said slowly, furrowing his brow in thought. “Knowledge that leads to victory. It is a term we once had for warriors who fought in battle with both weapon and magic, but it was deeper than that. They were known to be some of the strongest mages, but also the strongest warriors. Magic, weapon, body...it was all the same to them, all blended together into one fighting style. We have not had warriors like that since before the ancient elves fell to Tevinter, however.”

Aster could not blame Atlan for wanting to bring back something like that. She could not help but think about how that could be for her. She had not been able to focus on anything but blocking attacks that morning. She could not imagine being able to fight and draw on the Fade simultaneously, but the idea of it was thrilling.

“But I was describing my first real fight, wasn’t I?” Atlan gave a small smile, “I sneaked away from the clan, following the hunters who went to warn the Templars away. When I caught up to them, they were all standing with weapons drawn, aimed at the Templars. I had startled all of them as I came out among the group and one of the hunters, Junar, ordered me to return to the clan, but I did not listen.”

Atlan shook his head slowly. As he spoke, he had picked up his pike again, pulling out some sort of stone and working it against the blade. Aster had seen many Templars do similar things. It kept their blades sharp.

“I started the fight,” Atlan said sadly, “The hunters had convinced the Templars to leave peacefully—most are content with leaving us Dalish be as long as we do not go too near their cities. Just as we are content to leave shemlen be as long as they stay away from our camps.

“But as I mentioned earlier, I was angry over not becoming First. I saw these Templars, men I heard stories about how they treat mages, how they always run us off from our camps. I only focused on the few bad and made it so these Templars were like those few. I started yelling at them and my magic lashed out...”

Atlan sighed at that, studying his blade. Aster was quiet, watching him as unwanted memories started to fill her mind.

_Screaming at a Templar, angry, afraid. A bush nearby freezing and dying in the middle of summer..._

“The Templars saw that I was a mage,” Atlan said, snapping Aster from her memory, “It is their duty to find mages. I did not have my vallaslin, so I think the Templars may have assumed I was their elf who had escaped. I apparently resembled him somewhat.”

Aster knew where this would be going. She frowned, looking down at her hands again, trying to focus on Atlan’s tale instead of the memory of when she had discovered she was a mage.

“My clan protected me, refused to hand me over,” Atlan said, “And...Well, I do not need to tell you what happened then.”

Atlan’s voice was sad and Aster gave a small nod. Templars were there to protect, but she knew full well what happened when they felt their duty called for their sword.

“The hunters killed the Templars, but we lost one of our own,” Atlan said, “A woman, just barely a month after she had become a full hunter. Vela.”

Aster looked up quickly, her gaze going to the squirrel on Atlan’s shoulder. Atlan gave her a sad smile.

“The very same,” he said, knowing the question on her mind, “Seeing what had happened, knowing that I had caused it because of my anger, because of my wounded pride...It was too much for me. As I said, I began to throw up. The clan seemed to think I had learned my lesson that day.”

“That...” Aster said slowly, shaking her head. Atlan nodded.

“It was a very hard lesson to learn,” he said, “But it is what led me on my path. _Dirth’ena enasalin_. And to this,” Atlan paused to motion to the vallaslin on his face. “Dirthamen, Keeper of Secrets. So that I may never forget that I am on this path to recover secrets for the Dalish, not for my own pride.”

Aster nodded slowly, twisting her hands together in her lap.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said softly.

“Of course, _falon_ ,” Atlan said, then before Aster could ask, “Friend. Isn’t that what we are?”

Aster smiled softly and nodded.

“Yes,” she said, “We are.”

She had the strong urge to tell him about her own magic now. Atlan had given her a story so personal, so important to who he was, that she felt compelled to do the same. Before she could speak, however, Leliana and Alistair had sat down with them.

“What are you two doing over here?” Alistair asked cheerfully.

“Sharing stories,” Atlan said, “I just finished telling Aster one of my favorites of the Dalish tales.”

“Ooh, I love stories,” Leliana said, “Would you mind too much telling it again?”

Aster tensed, watching Atlan closely. He merely smiled, however, and began telling the group a story far different than the one of an angry, jealous young elf who had picked a fight with Templars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I decided to give Atlan a squirrel, it felt strange for him to have both the squirrel and mabari. Thus, the mabari became Alistair's instead. As for his name, that came from a conversation a friend and I had one afternoon about what Alistair would name a pet. She suggested Cheese, and that led to Cheddar, or Ched.


	5. Detour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a golem stirs things up.

Aster was beginning to realize what it was she missed most about life in the Circle. It was not the warm beds or full meals. It was not the company of those like her or the lazy days of reading in the library. It was not even the safety of the walls.

No, what Aster missed the most about the Circle was simply being _clean_. She could wash off in streams after long days of walking and training, but it did not compare to the warm water and scented soaps of a proper bath.

Aster sighed, rubbing at a dirt spot on her arm. They had detoured from their trip to Redcliffe when Atlan had discovered a small rod among Bodhan’s wares. Bodhan had told him he got the rod from a woman who said it controlled a golem that had killed her husband, and if he ever came by the village, the golem could be his as well. Atlan had been intrigued by the thought of a powerful golem on the team and decided they would make their way to this village before going to Redcliffe.

Now, nine days later, Atlan was on his way to said village with Morrigan, Alistair, and Ched to retrieve this golem. While they were gone, Aster, Leliana, and Sten had stayed with Bodhan and Sandal at the camp they set up the night before. Aster was glad for the chance to sit and rest for a day, but she still hated the dirt smudges that seemed to be becoming a permanent fixture on her skin.

“You should not rub at it like that,” Leliana commented, watching Aster, “You will bruise the skin.”

Aster frowned, trying to decide if a bruise would be preferable to being dirty.

“Were you a servant to some noble?”

“What?” Aster looked up quickly at Leliana, confused.

“You seem unaccustomed to travel on foot,” Leliana commented with a smile, “Or to being dirty. I see you trying to wipe off dirt often, or fussing with your hair.” Leliana’s gaze went to the messy braid Aster’s hair was now in. “That does not seem normal for an elf from an Alienage, from what I’ve heard. Did you work for a noble?”

“Oh...” Aster fidgeted a little, keeping her gaze down on her hands, “I...um...”

“Is something wrong?” Leliana asked.

“I just...” Aster struggled to think of an excuse. Maker, she was bad at this. “I don’t like talking about myself.”

Leliana was studying Aster in a way that made her uncomfortable. Aster avoided looking at her, trying to think of something to say to break the silence. The more time went on, the more she realized that trying to hide the fact she was a mage was not a good decision. Yet now, she dreaded the idea of telling them. Atlan and Morrigan may be mages themselves, but Leliana had been a Lay Sister and Alistair a Templar. She doubted either of them would appreciate the fact that Aster had avoided telling them that she was an Apostate herself. Especially given how many opportunities she had to tell them over the past two weeks, or the fact that she had not used her magic in the fight where they saved Bodhan.

“The Warden is returning,” Sten said nearby, causing Aster to jump. Leliana was smirking now and Aster felt heat rushing to her face. She was not made for this sort of life.

“Looks like he succeeded in finding that golem as well,” Leliana commented.

Aster watched as Atlan came into view through the trees, Morrigan and Alistair right behind with Ched trotting by his master. Behind them, a large, stone golem trudged along and Aster could not help but stare in surprise. She had seen golems in the Circle. None of them worked, of course. They were merely statues down in storage, but all of them were far bigger than the golem now walking behind Atlan. This one was barely taller than Sten, probably, though it was much bulkier and—quite obviously, given that it was a golem—made of rock. Another thing that made it different than the golems Aster had seen at the Circle was the fact that there were crystals imbedded along its shoulders and wrists, giving off a sort of soft glow.

“We’re back!” Alistair announced cheerfully, “With a walking, talking rock.”

“This ‘walking, talking rock’ could easily crush the Human Warden between my hands if I so desired.”

Aster was startled by the golem speaking. All she had read of them stated they were silent creations. They were not truly alive, simply able to move by magic infused within them, which allowed them to follow commands.

“Shale, that’s enough,” Atlan said.

“Is that an order?”

Aster could have sworn there was amusement in the golem’s voice. She had never heard of a golem with emotions. Atlan’s response, however, was just to sigh and shake his head.

“I’m going to go clean off this blood,” he said, turning and disappearing into the trees again.

“Did you get into a fight?” Leliana asked with concern.

“A few darkspawn and demons, no big deal,” Alistair said casually, flopping down onto the ground by the fire, “How were things here?”

“Aster is scrubbing herself raw from the dirt,” Leliana teased. Aster’s face burned again.

“So you’re not from an Alienage?” Alistair asked a bit bluntly, then seemed to realize his question, “I mean...They’re just...Well...”

“I’m from Amaranthine,” Aster muttered. She was horrible with lying, so she went for as much of the truth as she was comfortable with.

Her father had worked for a small-time blacksmith in the Amaranthine and her mother had been a tailor, though only for the Alienage. When one worked in an environment full of those who did not earn much coin, it was only natural that her family did not get much coin either. Aster had been no better off than the other elves in the Alienage. She had grown too used to luxury in the Circle.

“Perhaps the elf is used to its magic making its life pleasant.”

A heavy silence fell over the group as Aster felt herself grow cold. Sten’s face tightened as he watched Aster, Morrigan was raising an eyebrow at her, and Leliana and Alistair both looked confused.

“What?” Alistair asked slowly.

“Shale did tell us the gems in its...‘skin’, for lack of a better word,” Morrigan said, “Allowed it to sense magic. So tell us, Aster, is there something we do not yet know about you?”

Aster’s face felt like it was on fire. She sat tense, her gaze locked on her hands.

“I...I think I’d rather wait for Atlan to be back,” she muttered. Morrigan gave a short laugh.

“I knew there was something about you!” she said gleefully, “Now this all makes sense. The young, naïve elf who is so out of place here. You have probably lived your life in one of those Circle cages, have you not?”

Aster fidgeted. Her heart was pounding in her chest now. There was a part of her relieved that this was out now, but she was not liking the way Alistair was staring at her, almost as if he were disappointed. Morrigan continued to look cheerful, Sten glaring, and Leliana’s expression was completely unreadable.

“I want to wait for Atlan,” Aster said weakly.

“But why hide your magic?” Morrigan seemed to be relishing in the moment and was not going to let this go, “’Tis a most useful skill. Why pretend it is not there?”

“Why did you have me teach you swordsmanship?” Alistair asked stiffly, “You clearly don’t need it.”

“I...” Aster said slowly. She was beginning to realize the stupidity of her decision. Her excuse sounded so weak now. Even with the fact that Alistair used to be a Templar, she had no reason to hide the fact she was a mage when there were two others in the group.

“She must have a reason, yes?” Leliana spoke up. The unreadable expression was gone from her face now and she was instead smiling softly. “Just like we all have our reasons for keeping certain things secret.”

“Like how you will not talk about being an Orlesian spy?” Morrigan asked. Leliana went tense.

“Not all bards are spies,” she said flatly, “Just because I was a bard—”

“But with your skills, you surely must have been one of the spies,” Morrigan said.

“And what secrets are you hiding, Morrigan?” Leliana shot back, not answering the accusation, “What brings a daughter of Flemeth, a Witch of the Wilds, out of the forests and into a battle against the Blight?”

Aster rose to her feet, wanting to get away from the arguing. She hurried away from the group, surprised to hear a noise very similar to a chuckle coming from the golem. It was enjoying seeing the bickering, apparently.

Aster made her way over to Bodhan’s cart, sinking to the ground and leaning against one of the wheels. She rest her elbows on her knees, hiding her face in her hands with a sigh. Everything had become a mess very quickly. She knew she should not have kept this a secret. She should have told the others from the start. Why had she decided to keep it to herself? It was such a foolish decision.

Sounds of awkwardly paced footsteps approached and Aster glanced up through her fingers to see Sandal standing in front of her, a frown on his face.

“You’re sad,” Sandal said slowly, cocking his head to the side. Aster gave a sigh.

“Just a mistake catching up with me,” she said softly, “There’s nothing I can do about it now.”

Sandal did not seem to understand.  He blinked at Aster, then turned and headed towards the back of his father’s cart. Aster watched as he disappeared into the cart, then returned a few moments later. He walked up to Aster again and held out his hand, where a rune was resting. Aster leaned forward to look at it, noticing the symbol was that of one for demon-slaying.

“Enchantment?” Sandal asked slowly, pointing to Aster’s dagger with his other hand, where he held a bag of what she assumed was lyrium. Aster figured he wanted to enchant her dagger for her. Why he wanted that, however, she did not know.

Aster nodded slowly, taking her dagger from her belt and held it out to Sandal, still in its sheath. Sandal took the dagger and sat down with it and the rune, humming some tune Aster did not know. Aster sat still and watched him work the rune and lyrium into the hilt of the dagger until, finally, he finished and stood back up. Walking back to Aster, he held out the dagger with a small smile.

“For you,” he said, “Don’t be sad.”

Aster could not help but smile. So this was what Sandal was doing, trying to cheer Aster up. It was almost a childlike gesture, to give someone something to cheer them up. Aster had to admit, though, an enchanted dagger was a bid different than the normal cheer-up gift.

“Thank you, Sandal,” Aster said softly, taking the dagger from him.

Sandal grinned brightly, humming again as he headed off towards where Bodhan had been watching.

“What’re you doing over here, _falon_?”

Aster looked up to see Atlan had returned from his bath, his hair still damp. She pushed herself to her feet, brushing off her trousers. Atlan was going to find out when he went over to the others, she knew she needed to get it over with now.

“I’m a mage,” she said softly, not looking at Atlan.

“I already knew that.”

“What?” Aster looked up in surprise. Atlan was smiling at her.

“I saw the expression you had when you looked to Alistair’s shield when we first met,” Atlan said, “And, for a brief moment, I felt something stir with The Beyond. I had thought it was Morrigan, but given your expression, I soon realized it had to be you.”

Aster felt heat rush to her face again, looking down. She frowned, picking at the edge of her tunic. She had not realized she had been done that. All that struggle...

“You...knew,” she said dumbly, “Why didn’t you...”

“Because I saw the look on your face,” Atlan said, “I have heard how mages and Templars do not get along outside of the Dalish. It seemed you wished to protect yourself from him.”

Aster frowned a little. Indeed, that had been the thought at first. Alistair was traveling with two mages and though he got along well enough with Atlan, there seemed to be tension with him and Morrigan. Aster did not know how he would react to her.

Atlan glanced towards the group nearby and Aster followed his gaze. It seemed they had stopped bickering, but Leliana was occasionally glaring at Morrigan, who seemed to be ignoring her. Alistair seemed to be trying to ignore the tension beside him, focusing on the fire. Shale had gone over to Sten and was trying to pull him into a conversation.

“I take it they found out,” Atlan said more of a statement than a question. Aster nodded.

“Shale told them,” Aster said, “Its crystals let it sense magic or something?”

Atlan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I should have said something to the golem,” he said, “ _Ir abelas_ , Aster. I did not think.”

“There’s no changing things now,” Aster muttered, “And I can’t avoid them forever.”

Atlan chuckled, grinning at Aster.

“ _Ma nuvenin_ ,” he said, then on Aster’s look, “As you say. Come on. Let’s get back to the group.”

Atlan walked off towards the group. Aster sighed and followed behind. Alistair looked up with an expression of relief when he saw his fellow Warden.

“Oh, thank the Maker you’re back,” he said, then glanced to Aster.

“Yes, I know she’s a mage,” Atlan said before anyone could bring it up, “I have known since we met.”

“You have?” Morrigan raised an eyebrow at them. Atlan smirked at her.

“I’m more surprised you did not notice,” he said, “I felt it the Beyond around her very clearly when we met her. Shouldn’t you have noticed it as well?”

Morrigan’s gaze narrowed into a harsh glare and she made no comment. Aster stared at Atlan in surprise.  He had told her that he barely felt the magic with her and had dismissed it as being form Morrigan at first. Why taunt Morrigan like this? He really did have a death wish.

“Why did you hide your magic, Aster?” Leliana asked gently. She did not sound hurt or betrayed, or even angry with Aster. She merely sounded curious.

“Yeah, why make me teach you to fight when you didn’t need it?” Alistair asked. Unlike Leliana, he sounded whiny, as if he felt his time had been wasted.

Aster glanced down, picking at the edge of her tunic again, fiddling with the hem in her hands.

“I...was never good with a staff in the Circle,” she muttered, “And I really do want to learn to protect myself. Without magic.”

“Why would you ignore such a valuable tool?” Morrigan scoffed.

“Because I want to rely on something other than magic,” Aster said quietly, “I’ve grown up around Templars. I don’t want everyone to look at me and instantly know I’m a mage.”

“’Tis a foolish notion,” Morrigan said with a snort. Leliana glared at her.

“I cannot blame her,” she said, “Given how mages have been treated, it must be nice to avoid that treatment for once.”

“So you escaped from a Circle?” Alistair asked slowly, “You really are an apostate?”

“Y-yes,” Aster said awkwardly, “Alistair, I—”

She cut herself off as Alistair frowned. She looked down again, still twisting at the end of her tunic.

“I should have told everyone before,” she muttered.

“No, really?” Alistair asked. Atlan glared at him.

“You cannot fault her for being wary of a former Templar,” he pointed out. Alistair fidgeted a bit.

“No, I guess I can’t,” he said slowly.

“Then we should leave Aster be,” Leliana said, “We all know now, so it does not matter. Her reasons are her own.”

Aster looked over at Leliana, trying to give her a grateful smile. Leliana simply gave her a small nod in return. Maybe it was a good thing for everyone to know now. At least she would not be fretting over the secret anymore. Even if she did have to endure Morrigan’s smug comments.

She just hoped Alistair would eventually be as understanding as Leliana and Atlan were. She had been beginning to truly value their friendship and his swordsmanship lessons. She did not want to lose that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always knew Aster would not be able to keep the secret too long. She's too skittish, too unused to dealing with others. And given Shale states that she can sense magic, it would only be natural for her to comment on it.


	6. Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aster discovers a bounty.

Alistair remained distant over the next couple of days and even turned down any of Aster’s requests for swordsmanship training. Aster did not know what to do to fix things and instead grew quiet herself, sitting away from the others during meals. Leliana seemed to take it on herself to keep Aster company, often walking beside her along the road and filling the silence with some of her favorite stories she had learned in her years as a bard in Orlais.

“...and to this day, any female who becomes a Chevalier reveres Aveline the Brave,” Leliana had just finished a tale of an Orlesian warrior who had been raised by Dalish, “For her sacrifice changed the way Orlais viewed women as equal to men in battle.”

Aster was aware of Leliana watching her as they walked, but she kept her gaze ahead of her.

“You should talk to Alistair,” Leliana said unexpectedly. Until then, she had not mentioned the fallout that had happened after Aster had been revealed as a mage. “I am sure if you explain things—”

“Explain to a Templar that a mage used him to learn to fight?” Aster asked softly.

“Explain that a mage was wary of telling a Templar who she was,” Leliana replied gently, “You were once in a Circle, so now you are an apostate, yes? Any mage in your position would not want to reveal their magic when traveling with a Templar—former one or not.”

“It’s not as simple as that,” Aster muttered, “I escaped from a Circle. It’s not like Morrigan or Atlan, who grew up outside of one. They have an excuse, I don’t. I’m just some coward who ran away from her home.”

“What do you mean?”

Aster fidgeted a little. Her mind went to Jowan. How different would things have been if she had refused to help him, or if she had chosen to betray him to the Templars? Maybe she would still be in the Circle now, safe and sound. She would wake up comfortable and in a soft bed. She would have full meals and cozy days in the Circle library.

She would be miserable, full of guilt over betraying her closest friend. No matter that he was a blood mage and had betrayed her as well, she would have never betrayed her friend. That was not the type of person she was. No, she doubted she would have done anything differently. She also doubted that Alistair would see things the same way. She had helped a blood mage escape, then ran away from her own sentencing.

“I...do not want to talk about it,” Aster muttered, well aware that Leliana was still watching her closely. The woman remained silent for so long that Aster began to fidget again under her gaze.

“Very well,” Leliana finally said, her voice gentle, “But know I am here to listen if you ever do wish to confide in someone.”

Aster could not help but smile at that.

“Thank you,” she said softly, “You’re very sweet, Leliana. You remind me of Solona. She was always so sweet, so helpful to anyone who needed it. Whenever one of the children had a bad day, she would sneak them cookies from the kitchen. She was always there to welcome and comfort scared new mages, myself included.” Aster smiled a little at the memory, but then another memory came and the smile faded. “She...She deserved better.”

“What do you mean?” Leliana asked. Aster sighed, shuddering a little.

“She...did not pass her Harrowing,” Aster said slowly, “She was made Tranquil a couple of months ago.”

Aster could clearly remember the first time she saw Solona after the poor woman had been made Tranquil. She had heard it first from two mages, talking in hushed whispers about how one of the Templars, Cullen, had been devastated by it. It had been a worst-kept secret of the Circle that Cullen fancied Solona Amell. At first, Aster had not believed the story. Then she saw Solona among the Tranquil, that familiar, ugly symbol on her forehead and vacant expression on her face. She had nightmares for weeks after that.

“It must have been hard for you,” Leliana said softly. Aster nodded, fiddling with the hilt of her dagger that Sandal had enchanted.

A loud crack echoed through the air and Aster yelped, jumping as she spun towards ahead of them. A large tree had fallen across the road, startling Bodhan’s druffalo. She reared up on her hind legs, giving a loud cry as Bodhan began to pull on the reins from his seat on the cart.

“What’s going on?” Leliana asked, her hand already going for the bow on her back. Aster hesitated before reaching for her own sword, looking around. She did not think anyone attacking a heavily armed group was going to be a mere bandit.

“Bodhan, you and Sandal bar yourselves into the cart,” Atlan ordered, taking a defensive position with his pike. Alistair had pulled out his sword and shield and Sten had unhitched the broadsword he had gotten from Bodhan. Even Morrigan looked on edge, her staff gripped tightly in her hands and Aster, even from far in the back, could feel the effects of the Fade swirling around the woman. Ched stayed close to Alistair, crouched low and growling.

An elf in thick leather armor stepped out from the nearby trees, a longsword in one hand and a short sword in the other. He was smirking as he stepped onto the fallen tree, aiming the sword towards Atlan.

“The Grey Warden dies here,” he said, then launched himself towards Atlan.

Arrows shot from the trees nearby. It was clear that this elf was not attacking alone. Aster noticed a man with daggers edging out of the trees nearby and hurried towards him with her sword. She was not going to let herself falter this time.

A dagger sailed past Aster, just inches from her ear. She froze, a mistake she instantly paid for. The man with daggers—one short now—had reached Aster and made a swipe for her elbow, where her armor was thinner. Aster just barely managed to stumble out of the way and swung her sword wildly, hitting the man’s unprotected arm. He gave a cry as he jumped backwards, dagger slipping from his hand as she placed the hand over the deep cut where Aster’s sword had connected.

Aster hesitated, her sword lowering as she looked to the wound. She had done that. She had wounded him...

Something hard collided with her side, knocking her to the ground. Her sword fell from her hand, skidding across the ground and Aster tried to roll over to get it, but someone landed on top of her, pinning her down.

Pinned on her back now, Aster looked up into the face of an elven woman with a wicked grin, a dagger in one hand. Aster’s heart was pounding in her chest as she tried to push the woman away, only to find her arms pinned at her side by the woman’s knees.

“You must be the blood mage,” the woman mocked. Aster’s breath caught as the woman placed the edge of the cold blade to her throat.

“You’ll fetch a handsome price with the Templars,” the woman went on, “We’re supposed to kill everyone, but I bet you’re worth more alive.”

Aster could not move, her breathing shaky and coming shorter. She kept her eyes locked on the woman above her, trying to decide what to do.

_‘A spell,’_ she told herself, _‘You’re a mage. Do something. Anything.’_

Paralysis. That was something she could do. Aster began to pull at the Fade and the woman’s gaze narrowed.

“Now, none of that, little blood mage,” the woman said, pressing the dagger tighter to Aster’s throat. Aster trembled, her eyes widening at the realization. This woman had to be a mage herself. How else would she have known Aster had been preparing for a spell?

“I...” Aster managed, feeling the dagger vibrate against her throat as she spoke, “I’m not—”

A large shield collided into the woman, sending her tumbling off of Aster. Her hand immediately went to her throat and there was instant relief to find that she felt no blood. She sat up quickly, looking over to see Alistair removing his sword from the woman’s stomach, Aster’s attacker now dead.

Alistair turned towards Aster as he sheathed his sword. He saw Aster’s own sword lying on the ground and picked it up before coming over to her, offering her his empty hand.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Aster nodded, taking Alistair’s hand and letting him help her to her feet. As soon as she was up, Alistair handed her the sword she had dropped.

“Thanks,” Aster whispered.

Alistair nodded, then turned and walked back towards Atlan nearby. Aster realized the battle was over, bandits lying dead around them. Aster shuddered, trying not to think about it as she sheathed her sword and hurried to the others.

She was surprised to see that the leader elf was alive, and that Atlan was currently binding the elf’s hands and feet.

“You’re keeping him alive?” Alistair asked in disbelief.

“He knows we’re Wardens,” Atlan said, “I want to know who he is. And how he found us.” Atlan paused, noticing Aster. “How’s your healing?”

“What?”

“Magic. How are you at healing spells?”

“Oh...” Aster said weakly, “I...have a little training. I’m better with herbalism, but I do know a few spells—”

“Good, patch this man up,” he said, motioning to the elf, “Just enough to keep him alive. And search his pack for anything useful. The rest of us will get that tree out of the road and we’ll be on our way.”

Atlan walked off at that and Aster turned to Alistair.

“Does he seriously want me to heal someone who tried to kill us?” she asked slowly. Alistair gave a shrug.

“He has a point,” he said, “We should know how this elf knew we were Wardens. Someone could have sent him after us.”

Alistair hurried off to help the others and Aster sighed, squatting down next to the bound elf. He seemed young, only a couple years older than Aster by her guess, with tanned skin and blonde hair that had become tangled in the battle. Two black marks curved along his left cheek.

Aster checked the elf over, pulling a small bit of Fade to her and healed the worst of the wounds. The elf would survive but he would not be feeling too well when he woke.

With the healing done, Aster turned to the pack that Atlan had removed from their attacker. As soon as Aster opened the pack, she became aware of something glowing a deep, dark red from within. She felt a cold sickness wash over her as she knew instantly what it was. She had seen a similar glow when she had helped Jowan escape from Kinloch Hold.

Aster quickly found the source and pulled out a small vial of blood that was giving off a bright glow, despite its dark color. She knew the blood inside was hers. She knew she was now holding her own phylactery, made when she first arrived at Kinloch Hold and moved to Denerim when she had passed her Harrowing.

Looking to the unconscious elf, Aster wondered how he had gotten the phylactery. She remembered the mage who had attacked her had called her a blood mage. Cold realization came through her as she slowly put the pieces together.

Due to her escape with Jowan, the Chantry must believe that she was a blood mage herself. The thought was not a pleasant one. And now, they had used her to track the Wardens. Aster stared at the little vial in disgust, her hand closing around it in a failed attempt to hide its glow. How had they even known she was traveling with them? Had someone recognized them back in Lothering, despite Atlan’s attempts to hide his face?

The elf began to stir. Aster dropped her phylactery back into the bag in a panic and turned quickly towards the others, calling for Atlan.

The Dalish Warden was by Aster’s side in an instant, squatting down next to her. He pulled out a knife with a curved blade and intricate carvings along the edge that reminded Aster of his Vallaslin. As the bound elf opened his eyes, Atlan made sure the elf saw the knife he was holding.

“Well, I was hoping to wake up dead, or not at all,” the elf said in an accent Aster recognized as Antivan. There had been an Antivan mage at Kinloch Hold a couple of years before.

“That could easily be arranged,” Atlan said sharply. The elf’s amber-brown eyes went briefly to the dagger, then to Aster, and finally to the Vallaslin on Atlan’s face.

“I can see where this is going,” he said, “You wish to interrogate me, yes? Well, allow me to save you the trouble. I am Zevran Arainai, Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows and we were hired to eliminate the last of the Grey Wardens here in Ferelden.”

“You’re very forthcoming,” Aster said slowly.

“What are the Antivan Crows?” Atlan asked, looking to Aster for an answer.

“An order of assassins,” Aster said, remembering the many fictional tales she had read over the years, “They’re thought to be the best. Though stories I’ve read have never said they’re so chatty.”

“Fiction should never be confused with reality, my dear young woman,” Zevran said. Aster glared at him.

“Who hired you?” Atlan asked sharply, going back to the point of the conversation.

“A rather irritable man in Denerim named Loghain,” Zevran said, “He was not at all pleased to hear you had been spotted buying supplies in Lothering, thus the Crows were hired to track you down.”

“How did you find us?”

Aster tensed, glancing to Zevran’s bag. It was clear the assassin had noticed. His gaze was locked on her now, studying her in a way that Aster did not like at all.

“We assassins have many skills,” Zevran said, looking back to Atlan, “Tracking happens to be one of them. And you would be surprised to know the information you can get by simply showing a few gold coins.”

Aster stared at the assassin in disbelief. Why not mention the phylactery?

“And why are you being so forthcoming?” Aster asked, “Shouldn’t you be loyal to your employer?”

“I happen to be very loyal,” Zevran sounded offended, “That is, until I am expected to die when I fail. As for sharing this, why not? Information is always useful for bargaining.”

“And what exactly are you bargaining for?” Atlan asked.

“Well, being able to live would be nice,” Zevran said, “And I do happen to have an offer for you.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“That one is up to you,” Zevran shrugged as best as he could with his hands bound behind him, “But are you willing to at least listen to my offer?”

Atlan was quiet for a moment, studying the elf in front of them. Finally, he gave a small nod. Aster stared at the Dalish Warden, wondering if he had lost his mind.

“My offer is simple,” Zevran said, “If you spare my life, then that means my life is now forfeit. The Crows would surely kill me on sight for failing in my duty to kill you and the other Warden, so I now have no reason to return.  My life will be yours to command as you see fit.”

“And what exactly can you do?”

“Y-you’re not serious, are you?” Aster asked, choking on the words, “You’re considering bringing an assassin with us?”

Atlan gave Aster a stern look that made her sink back some, then he turned back to Zevran.

“Well? What skills do you have? Besides fighting, as you’ve shown us.”

“I’m quite talented in a number of fields,” Zevran said, “Dueling, lock picking, making many different types of poisons and their antidotes. Or I could simply stand around and look pretty. Keep your bed warm, perhaps?”

“No,” Atlan said flatly.

“Your loss,” Zevran shrugged, “But as for the rest of the bargain?”

“How do I know you won’t take the opportunity to kill me later?”

“Because you will have so many watching me,” Zevran’s gaze went to Aster again. “With so many watchful eyes, how will I ever gain the element of surprise?”

Atlan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He finally reached over and cut the ropes bound around Zevran’s hands and feet, then stood and held his hand to the assassin.

“Consider this a trial,” he said.

“Are you insane?” Aster was to her feet, her voice high, “He tried to kill us!”

“And I promise not to try again,” Zevran said with a smile that Aster did not like at all, “As I am now in the dear Warden’s employ now. It will be nice to leave the Crows, if I am honest.”

The others had cleared away the tree by now. Atlan looked over to the group, then back to Zevran.

“You’re quite eager to leave the Crows,” he said.

“Well, to be honest, being a Crow had not been my choice,” Zevran said. He was rubbing his wrists now where the ropes had been moments before. “I was bought by the Crows when I was seven, for a handsome price, I’m told.”

“You were _sold_ into the Crows?” Aster asked.

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad. There are worse fates for boys raised in a whorehouse.”

Aster stared at Zevran. He was awfully forthcoming with his past. He was an assassin. He clearly had tracked them by Aster’s phylactery, yet had lied about that. And now he was being so honest and open about his past? Why?

“You should stop glaring like that,” Zevran said, startling Aster from her thoughts, “It’s such an ugly expression for such a beautiful woman.”

Aster felt herself flush and she spun away from Zevran, not wanting to give him the pleasure of seeing the blush. She hurried off to where Leliana was checking the cart to make sure it survived the battle, very aware of Zevran’s gaze following her.

Subconsciously, Aster’s hand went to her neck where the woman had held the dagger earlier. The fact that Zevran seemed to think keeping her phylactery a secret did not make her feel safe with him around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to bring Zevran in rather early to the story, as his relationship with Aster will be part of the tale.
> 
> Also, it seems the Templars believe Aster is a blood mage. We'll see in time how that will play in, and why Zevran decided to keep the phylactery a secret.


	7. Friendships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aster shares her escape story.

Aster had decided that she did not like Zevran. He spent the afternoon busying himself with anything he could do to help while also making flirtatious remarks to everyone in the party—except, Aster noticed, Shale and Sten. Aster tried to avoid him, yet Zevran always seemed to be nearby. It was impossible to avoid someone in a small camp. Yet again, Aster found herself longing for Kinloch Hold where it was easy to avoid someone just by staying in a different area of the library or keeping a schedule separate from theirs.

After two days of this, Aster decided she would go for a walk once camp was set for the night. She needed time to herself, time to clear her head. The events of Zevran’s ambush were still swirling in her mind, especially discovering that the Chantry believed she was a blood mage. The very idea sickened her.

“A lovely young woman should not be wandering off on her own.”

Aster felt her face grow warm as Zevran came up behind her. She hated how easily she flustered, especially when she knew Zevran’s flattery was not reserved for one person.

“I just wanted to clear my head,” Aster said, glancing to Zevran. Her phylactery in his pack kept coming back to her mind. She was so curious as to how anyone had known she was traveling with the Grey Wardens, but she could not figure out a way to bring up the subject. She had been trying for the past two days yet had never found a way to approach it.

Luckily, Zevran brought it up for her.

“I must say,” Zevran said, “When I saw you in armor, I did not think the others knew you were a mage.”

“Then why didn’t you tell them?” Aster stopped, turning to look at Zevran in surprise.

“Because information is a useful thing,” Zevran said, smirking at Aster, “I thought it would be nice having the favor of a blood mage.”

“I am _not_ a blood mage,” Aster said venomously, “No matter wha—”

“But you did help one escape from your Circle, then escaped yourself.”

Aster fidgeted a little, looking away from Zevran. She preoccupied herself with studying the bark on a nearby tree instead.

“How...” she started, trying to figure out how to word the question. Again, Zevran seemed to know what was on her mind.

“Your Templars are very thorough when searching for who they believe are blood mages,” Zevran said, “And a young elf with eyes as remarkable as yours would stand out.”

Aster’s face flushed again. She had never thought her miss-matched eyes would be much of a problem. True, she often attracted stares when someone was close enough to notice but she did not think much about how uniquely defining they had to be. She had thought her magic or her ears would be the thing that defined her, not her eyes.

“Do you plan to keep my phylactery?” Aster asked softly.

“Why not?” Zevran gave a shrug, “As I said, information is a useful commodity.”

Aster glared at him. She knew full well what he was implying. He could not hold a ‘favor’ over her by hiding she was a mage, so now he was doing it by holding her phylactery.

“And there is that sour look again,” Zevran said, “Truly, it does not suit you, my dear Aster. Someone as lovely as you should be smiling and enjoying yourself.”

There was the blushing again. Aster turned away quickly, well aware of Zevran’s chuckle.

“Now that I have answered your questions,” Zevran said, “Would you be so kind to answer some of mine?”

Aster sighed. She had a feeling she was not going to enjoy this.

“I have heard many rumors about the Circle of Magi,” Zevran said, “Like how closely the Templars watch you mages.”

“They do,” Aster said, “And before you ask, I just got lucky with escaping.”

“Hmm,” Zevran was watching her closely now, “And is also true that when the moon swells to full, you all gather on the top of your tower and in the moonlight, make love to each other?”

“Wh-what?” Aster sputtered, her voice rising and her face burning as if she were right next to a fire, “Maker, no! Whatever gave you that idea?”

Zevran was chuckling again.

“You are quite fetching when you are embarrassed, my dear lady.”

Aster glared at him, still blushing furiously.

“Can’t you go bother someone else?” she asked.

“But I do not wish to leave you out here alone,” Zevran sounded offended. Aster’s blush deepened.

“She will not be.”

Aster gave a small yelp and spun around. Again, Zevran chuckled and Aster had an uncharacteristic urge to hit someone.

Leliana stood nearby, watching Zevran closely. A silence fell over the three, then Zevran finally shrugged and gave a ‘very well’ before heading back towards the camp. Leliana came over to Aster and gave her a soft smile.

“Are you all right?” she asked. Aster hesitated, not sure what to say. Then, she remembered how kind Leliana had been to her since they met.

“Not really,” Aster said softly, “The Chantry thinks I’m a blood mage.”

“Why would they think that?”

Aster sighed, reaching up and fiddling with the crudely made ring that hung from a leather strap around her neck.

“It’s a long story,” she said, then a weak smile came across her face as she looked to Leliana, “But you do like stories.”

Leliana laughed softly, smiling in return.

“Yes, I do.”

“I have...had this friend, Jowan,” Aster said slowly, looking out to the trees again as they began to walk, “We were really close in the Circle. I had just passed my Harrowing, but even though he had been at the Circle longer, he still had not taken his. He discovered that the Senior Enchanter thought he was a blood mage and were planning to make him Tranquil...”

Aster shuddered a little, shaking her head.

“I never would have thought the accusations were true,” she went on, her voice softening, “He told me he had been sneaking around because he had fallen in love with an acolyte in the Chantry, and they planned to escape and live their lives in peace. I agreed to help them.”

“What happened?” Leliana asked gently. Aster frowned, staring off into the trees.

“We broke into the repository, where they stored the phylacteries,” Aster whispered, “We found Jowan’s and broke is, so he could escape. As we were leaving, we were caught by the First Enchanter and Knight Commander of the Templars. We were trapped and...And Jowan used blood magic to knock them out.”

Aster’s voice was weak as she spoke, her hand tightening around the ring hanging from her neck.

“You must have felt very betrayed,” Leliana’s voice was almost as quiet as Aster’s now. Aster nodded, not looking up.

“I would have never thought he would sink so low,” she whispered, “He was my friend, my brother for all those years we had been in the Circle together...” Aster paused, shaking her head slowly, “And there he stood, blood on his hands from where he stabbed himself...I started to realize once Jowan was gone, once the others woke up...They would look for someone to blame. I was terrified that if I stayed, I would be made Tranquil for aiding a blood mage’s escape. So...So I left with him. We parted ways as soon as we could, and I made my way to Lothering.”

It felt odd to have the story told. She had been keeping it in, trying not to think about it. Now, it was almost a relief. Someone knew her side of the story.

“It must have been very hard for you to leave,” Leliana said. Aster looked at her and noticed an odd expression on her face. Aster wondered what was on her mind.

“I would not have left if I had another choice,” she said, “I was safe in the Circle, it was better than the Alienage I had been in before. I wish there was a way I could still be there.”

“Don’t dwell on it so much,” Leliana said, “You are here for a reason. I am sure the Maker has plans for you.”

She said it with such confidence that Aster desperately wished it were true. Maybe she was meant to leave the Circle. It would be comforting to know that her escaping was not worthless, was not an act of a coward.

“Thank you, Leliana,” Aster said softly.

“Of course, that’s what friends are for, no?”

Aster was smiling now. She really did like Leliana. They had only known each other for a few short weeks, but Leliana was quickly becoming like a sister to her.

“We should get back to the camp,” Aster said when she noticed it was growing darker, “I’m sure Alistair will have dinner ready by now.”

“If his cooking can be called ‘dinner’,” Leliana said, making a face. Aster could not help but laugh, even as she agreed. Alistair’s cooking was horrible.

When they returned to the camp, Aster noticed Atlan was with Morrigan again, the two of them sitting closely together at Morrigan’s tent. Leliana snorted when she saw them.

“He is asking for trouble,” she said, “Morrigan is a vile woman.”

“Are you jealous?” Aster asked. Leliana laughed.

“No, of course not,” she said. For some reason, her hand went to a dagger at her waist. Aster noticed Leliana looked down at it with a soft expression, as if it brought back a fond memory. “I have no interest in Atlan other than friendship. I just worry for his safety.”

Aster nodded, looking to where the Dalish Warden and Witch of the Wilds were talking. Morrigan laughed at something, a hand resting on Atlan’s leg.

“She really is a bitch, isn’t she?” Aster asked.

“Now, no need for name-calling,” Leliana said, though it was hard to take her scolding seriously when she was smiling.

The rest of the group was gathered around the fire, none looking pleased with he gray stew that Alistair had prepared. Aster was well aware of Zevran watching her and Leliana as they sat down and she made a point to avoid catching his gaze.

“Where have you two been?” Alistair asked.

“Just taking a walk,” Leliana replied.

“You’d think after walking all day, you’d be sick of it by now.”

“I wanted some time to think,” Aster said, “Leliana was just keeping me company.”

“Because my company was apparently not good enough,” Zevran said in a teasing tone. Aster glared at him, feeling her face redden again.

Alistair looked between the two elves, seeming confused. Aster noticed Sten was studying everyone closely, which made Aster uncomfortable. At least Shale was off by itself. She was not in the mood for a sarcastic golem on top of everything else.

The only good thing about Zevran’s ambush was that Alistair seemed to have forgiven Aster. They had not talked about it at all, but Alistair was no longer cold towards Aster and had even resumed her lessons with sword fighting. Aster was perfectly fine with this turn of events. Anything to be done with the awkwardness between them.

“Why isn’t anyone eating?” Alistair asked suddenly, looking around the group.

Leliana fidgeted a little next to Aster, then glanced to her with a small smile and a wink. Aster could not help but smile back. No matter how bad things got—even if it was just horrible food—she would at least have Leliana by her side. She had lost a close friend in the Circle, but she had a feeling she had gained a new one among the new group she now traveled with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is mentioned briefly in the first chapter, but Aster has a form of heterochromia, in which her right eye is grey but her left eye is a dark brown. It's a rather unique feature that would definitely draw attention and make it hard for her to blend in.


	8. Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they finally arrive at their destination.

Aster was surprised when they reached Redcliffe with no more delays, though she was relieved when she saw the village come into view. They had been on the road for well over a month now and she was eager for a bit of civilization. Just being indoors would be a blessing compared to the hard ground and tents.

Alistair, on the other hand, seemed to become more fidgety the closer they got to the village. Aster was surprised by this, as Atlan had said going to Redcliffe for aid had been Alistair’s idea in the first place.

“Are you all right?” Aster asked as they approached the village gates. Alistair almost seemed to jump.

“Oh, do I seem nervous?” he asked, talking very quickly, “No, not at all. I’m not nervous. Everything’s fine.”

Atlan seemed to notice and he slowed to a stop, turning to Alistair.

“Is there something you want to talk about?” he asked, “You’re the one who wanted to come here.”

“No, no! I’m fine, I’m fine,” Alistair said quickly, but Atlan crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. Alistair sighed, wringing his hands together.

“Well, there is something I haven’t told any of you,” Alistair muttered.

“Oh?” Morrigan asked, “The boy who hates secrets has been keeping one of his own?”

“Morrigan, not now,” Atlan said sharply, then to Alistair, “What’s wrong?”

“Well...I told you before that Arl Eamon took me in?” Alistair asked and Aster stared in confusion.

“You were raised by an Arl?” she asked.

“We talked about it when we met,” Atlan said, then to Alistair, “You said that your Arl Eamon sent you to one of your Chantry because his bonded thought you were his bastard son, but you aren’t. You said you know who your father is.”

“Yes, about that...” Alistair said, still wringing his hands together and not quite looking at anyone, “My...well, my father is—was—King Maric. Which...I guess made Cailan my half-brother.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Morrigan said sarcastically, “We have a royal bastard among us.”

To Aster’s surprise, Alistair gave a short laugh.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” he said, “I should use it more often.”

“T’was not meant to be a joke,” Morrigan said sharply. Alistair’s face morphed into a glare.

“Why hide this?” Atlan asked before another argument could start, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I liked being just Alistair,” Alistair said, glancing to Aster, “Yes, I know how hypocritical that sounds.”

Aster frowned at that. He had gotten mad with her for wanting to be seen as something other than a mage, and yet he had this secret?

“Does this mean you’re a candidate for the throne?” Leliana asked curiously.

“Maker, I hope not!” Alistair said in panic, “It was made very clear as I grew up that I was to be kept far away from that life. I have no intention of being king and am quite happy with the Wardens.”

“You might not have a choice, falon,” Atlan said gently, “If you are the only heir—”

“Arl Eamon has a better claim than me,” Alistair cut in, his voice darkening, “He was Cailan’s uncle. Come on, we should get going.”

Alistair pushed past the others, marching towards the village gate. The others followed quickly, though as they caught up with Alistair, an elf with a bow over his back came running up to them.

“Oh thank the Maker!” he cried, “Someone has finally come to help! I’m not sure the village could last much longer!”

Aster glanced to the others. They seemed as confused as she was. Atlan stepped forward, holding his hands out to show he was unarmed.

“Andaran atish’an. We did not know of any trouble,” he said, “I’m Atlan, and we came to see your Arl Eamon—”

“He could be dead for all we know,” the elf cut in, “You haven’t heard? We’ve been under attack for weeks now.”

“Under attack?” Alistair asked, “From what?”

“Monsters, is all I know,” the elf said, “Always coming from the castle. You should speak with Ban Tegan, he can tell you more.”

“Ban Tegan is here?” Alistair stepped forward, “Take us to him.”

“Right away, ser!”

The elf hurried off across a bridge and the group followed behind. Aster could instantly tell that the village had been in a lot of trouble. Homes were barred shut, planks of wood hammered over the doors and windows. There were no villagers moving about, leaving the village feeling strangely empty. That was, until they came down a hill and Aster saw the village’s Chantry. Men in shabby armor were grouped around makeshift barricades, fiddling with bows and arrows or training with swords and shields. None of them looked too confident with their weapons.

“Ban Tegan is in the Chantry,” the elf said, coming to a stop near one of the barricades, “I’m sure he’ll be eager to talk to you.”

Atlan nodded, turning to the others.

“Maybe it’s best if Alistair and I go in alone,” he said, “Will everyone be all right out here?”

Sten gave a ‘humph’ as his only response. Aster was noticing he barely ever talked, just stood and glowered at everything.

“I think we can manage a few moments without the Warden’s leadership,” Morrigan said sarcastically. Atlan smirked at her.

“See that you do,” he said, “I would hate to lose someone as pretty as you.”

“The empty flattery of men will get you nowhere, Atlan,” Morrigan said, rolling her eyes. Though Aster could swear the woman actually smiled.

Atlan was smirking as he and Alistair headed into the Chantry, leaving the others to stand at the makeshift barricades. Aster could tell that there was something wrong in the village and it had nothing to do with the tense feeling in the air. As Aster looked around at the men practicing with swords and bows, there seemed to be something more than fear around them, pulling at the edge of Aster’s consciousness. She could sense far too many spirits and demons pressing against the Veil, shifting and stirring like a cat that knew an injured mouse was mere feet away.

“You look distracted, my dear Aster.”

Aster jumped slightly, then felt her face flush as she heard Zevran chuckle She glanced to him, not at all surprised that he had managed to sneak up on her. She tried to ignore him, however, as she glanced around. Sten was watching the makeshift militia train while Leliana talked with a distressed-looking young woman near the Chantry doors. She could not see where Morrigan and Shale had gone.

“Ignoring me now?” Zevran went on, “Tsk, I would have not taken you for being so rude.”

“I’m trying to focus,” Aster said, “Something is wrong here.”

“Of course something is wrong,” Zevran said, “This village has been under attack for some time. Did you not hear the young man who greeted us?”

Aster’s face burned red. She turned away from Zevran and started to make her way to Leliana. She could always count on Leliana to be a reasonable listener. Unfortunately, Zevran followed behind her.

“Have I done something to offend you, my dear?” Zevran asked. The question surprised Aster and she turned to him.

“What?” she asked.

“You are always so distant and sharp with me,” Zevran said, “And I thought I have been nothing but pleasant. Have I done something to make you think otherwise?”

“Are you serious? You do nothing but single me out for your own amusement.”

“Is that what you think?” Zevran asked, “I am merely trying to make you smile, Aster. You do have such a lovely smile.”

Aster glared at Zevran, already feeling her face grow warm again.

“Though if I my say,” he continued, “You do make such an amusing face when you’re angry.”

Aster’s anger turned to confusion as she stared at the assassin next to her.

“You... _like_ seeing me angry?”

Zevran laughed, a smirk forming on his face.

“I don’t think any sane man would like to see a woman angry,” he said, “But you do turn this adorable shade of pink and you tend to puff your cheeks out in a way that reminds me of Atlan’s squirrel when she has a mouthful of food.”

Aster was at loss for words. Had Zevran actually compared her to a _squirrel_? What possible response would anyone have to something like that?

“But this is not what I wanted to talk to you about,” Zevran said offhandedly, “I was trying to find out if there was a way to get on your good side, as it were. I have noticed that you do not hold this anger towards others of our group. Not even Alistair and I was of the impression that mages and Templars never got along.”

“Then you were wrong,” Aster said, “I happen to find Templars comforting and safe.”

“And yet you escaped from your Circle.”

Aster glared at Zevran again. Escaping had not been a choice she wanted to make, but she did not want to say so to Zevran. She did not trust him.

“You already know what happened,” she said, “After all, you tracked us through my phylactery.”

“Ah, so that is the problem?” Zevran’s smirk grew as he motioned to his bag over his shoulder.

Aster knew that little vial of blood was safely tucked among his things and she would never be able to get it from him. She should have taken it when she first found it.

“I would have thought you would be pleased,” he went on, “I have your phylactery, yes, but it is no longer in the hands of the Templars who imprison you.”

“The Templars do not imprison us,” Aster hissed.

“Don’t they?” Zevran countered, “Any mage is forced to live grouped together in one place, the Templars always watching. Any action they do not approve of is met with a swift blade, any mage who does not live by their rules is considered a criminal.”

Zevran paused, studying Aster closely. She felt her face warming again and could not hold his gaze, glancing down towards the ground instead.

“Like it or not, my dear Aster,” he said, “You are now one of those apostates they will hunt until is killed. They will not take you back in at the Circle simply because you believe Templars are protectors.”

Zevran walked away with those words, leaving Aster confused. She knew there were bad seeds, but she had always trusted Templars as a whole. They had saved her life, brought her somewhere where she could learn to control her magic in safety. They had to take harsh actions at times, but they were not jailers.

At least, that was what she always believed. Since leaving the Circle, she had been far too worried about being an apostate to take count of how she was adjusting being outside of their protection. She had always been given the impression that mages with no Templar oversight would be taken over by demons simply because of the Templar absence. There was Alistair, but even he admitted that he had never truly been a Templar. He had only gone through some training but never gained their abilities.

Yet Aster was getting along fine. She was even with a group of people who did not mind the fact she was a mage. Indeed, there were other mages among the group.

 _‘No,’_ she thought, taking a deep breath and staring off to the Chantry, _‘The Templars are needed. They protect everyone.’_

Yet as she made her way to Leliana, a small kernel of doubt continued to settle in the back of her mind. What if she was wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than my usual, but it has been one I've been struggling through. I am happy with the final product, however.


	9. A Lost Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aster and Leliana try to help a villager.

By the time Aster reached Leliana, Atlan and Alistair were coming out of the Chantry. Aster could not help but notice there was a look of relief on Atlan’s face as he glanced over his shoulder to the Chantry doors. It had not occurred to Aster that a Dalish might be that uncomfortable in a human Chantry. Why had he offered to go in, then?

Aster did not have time to think about that, however, because she was soon taken aback by Atlan’s news about the village.

“They’re being attacked by undead?” Aster asked, glancing around. She thought back to the odd sensation in the Fade around the village. It did made sense on a second glance. The Veil was very thin around here, it could be attracting spirits to raise undead. What she wanted to know, however, was what had made the Veil so thin in the first place. Even the Circle, full of mages training and learning control, never had the Veil this torn. What had happened here?

“Something has happened up at the castle, apparently,” Atlan said, “It’s been closed off for weeks and the undead attack from there every night.”

“Bann Tegan doesn’t even know if there’s anyone left alive up there,” Alistair added and the worry was clear in his voice as he glanced in the direction of the castle, “Arl Eamon is there, as well as his wife and son.”

“Not to mention the castle staff,” Leliana pointed out. Zevran snorted.

“If they truly have been attacked every night,” he said, “I doubt there’s any staff left alive there.”

Aster glared at the assassin. She knew he was right but she hated how blunt he was about it.

“We promised we would help with the attack tonight,” Atlan said, “Your Bann Tegan said if we help get them through, he’ll find a way to get us into the castle to see if your arl is alive.”

“And to find out what’s going on here,” Alistair added with a glance to Atlan, who gave a shrug in response. Something told Aster there was a bit of tension brewing between them.

“Our concern is your arl,” he said simply, “You said he would be willing to give us soldiers to stand against Loghain.”

“We should focus on the village,” Leliana spoke up gently, “I was speaking with a young woman, Kaitlyn, not long ago, she’s worried about her brother. He disappeared earlier today and she fears he returned to their home after she warned him not to.”

“We’re supposed to be helping build up the village’s defenses, not looking for some lost fledgling,” Atlan said, “I’m sure he’ll make his way to the Chantry here on his own.”

“But surely it will not take much to find one boy,” Leliana pressed. Atlan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Aster was staring at the man in disbelief. How could he not care about the safety of a child?

“Then you look for him,” he said, “The rest of us will focus on what’s important.”

Leliana had a harsh expression on her face that Aster did not think was possible for the kind-hearted woman. For the first time, she started to wonder if the woman really had been a true bard and not just a storyteller.

“I’ll help you Leliana,” Aster said, turning away from the others, “I’m sure the both of us together can find one boy.”

Leliana’s face slowly melted into a grateful smile as she looked to Aster.

“Thank you,” she said, “Come on, we should get started.”

“Just make sure you’re back here by nightfall,” Atlan said, “That’s when the next attack should happen.”

Leliana gave a stiff nod before marching off towards the docks and Aster hurried to follow. She kept thinking about the look on Leliana’s face, how harsh her features were as she had glared at Atlan. She had seen how skilled Leliana was with a bow, yet somehow she never thought much on how dangerous the woman was. Leliana had been a Chantry Sister, after all. Safe, gentle, caring.

“Is something wrong, Aster?” Leliana asked once they started along the wooden docks built over the edge of Lake Calenhad. Aster glanced to her and smiled a little.

“You weren’t just a storyteller in Orlais, were you?” she asked. Leliana studied her closely, then sighed.

“No, I wasn’t,” she said softly, “And this is not a story for such an open area.”

She glanced behind them and Aster looked to see Zevran had followed and was watching them closely. Aster glared at him, then Zevran began to smirk. Remembering how Zevran said she puffed her cheeks, Aster bit at the inside of her cheek and Zevran began to laugh before heading off to a nearby building.

“Do I really puff my cheeks when I glare?” Aster found herself asking.

“What?” Leliana asked in surprise. Aster looked back to her.

“Zevran says I puff my cheeks like a squirrel when I’m angry.”

Leliana smiled softly.

“I would not worry about what Zevran says,” she replied, not quite answering the question, “He delights in getting reactions out of others and, if you don’t mind my saying, you are quite easy to rouse.”

“I’m well aware,” Aster muttered, feeling the heat in her cheeks again. Leliana smiled and put an arm around Aster’s shoulders.

“Do not worry so much,” she said, “I’ll be here to keep him at bay. Now, why don’t we go find this boy?”

Aster nodded, knowing Leliana was right. Worrying about things did nothing. It was something better said than done, however. Aster was a worrier.

“What all did Kaitlyn say about her brother?” Aster asked, turning to the task at hand in an attempt to distract herself.

“His name is Bevin,” Leliana said, “And she thought he would return to their home, but she could not find him when she looked.”

“So where do we start?”

“At their home,” Leliana said, then on Aster’s surprised look, “Bevin is a frightened child. He might have hid when someone came into the house. Kaitlyn might have overlooked something.”

Aster nodded slowly. Leliana would know about this better than she did. She followed the woman through the docks, trying to ignore the stench of fish assaulting her senses. How could people grow used to the smell enough to live in these places?

Aster glanced out at the lake and found herself pulling to a stop. It had only now dawned on her that this village rested on the shores of Lake Calenhad. Somewhere across those waters was Kinloch Hold, her home.

 _‘No, not anymore,’_ Aster tried to tell herself. She would not be able to go back. She was branded a blood mage, after all. If she ever returned, she would be killed on the spot. The thought made her far sicker than any smell of rotting fish could.

“Aster? Are you all right?”

Aster turned to Leliana, finding the woman watching her with a concerned look. Aster sighed, shaking her head.

“I miss Kinloch Hold,” she said softly, “My friends there, the life I had...Things were much easier then.”

“Your past always seems easier than the present,” Leliana said, “But when you were living that life, I doubt you found it easy.”

“A life of three square meals a day?” Aster replied, “Protection from those who wish to harm mages and elves, all the books I could read, learning to hone my abilities with those like me...”

“And avoiding the wrath of Templars.”

“That wasn’t so hard,” Aster said, “Most of the Templars were actually pretty friendly.”

“Most mages I’ve met have felt differently.”

Aster sighed, running a hand through her hair and mussing her braid that was already falling loose to begin with.

“Most mages you’ve met are apostates, weren’t they?” Aster asked, though she could not help but go back to her conversation with Zevran earlier. _They will not take you back in at the Circle simply because you believe Templars are protectors._

“A fair point,” Leliana replied, “Come, the house is just up here.”

Aster nodded, following Leliana to what appeared to be a store, where Leliana said the family lived above it. Aster was surprised to see the door was not locked. Maybe the boy was here after all.

Inside the store was dark, dust clouding the windows. Aster held up her hand, pulling at the Fade and forming a small flame resting at her palm, careful not to let it grow too much.

“That’s quite a useful talent,” Leliana said.

“Especially for sneaking into the library to read at night,” Aster replied with a small smirk.

Leliana nodded, looking around the room. Behind a counter nearby were several large barrels filled with what smelled like oil. Leliana was studying them closely.

“Maybe the militia could use this,” she said slowly, “If they’re dealing with walking corpses, setting them on fire would probably make them more manageable.”

“Or the militia will have to deal with fighting flaming corpses instead,” Aster said, keeping her distance from the barrels. Her flame would not mix well with that.

“It would still be worth mentioning to the militia,” Leliana said, turning from the barrels, “But this is not why we came here.”

Aster nodded, following Leliana towards the stairs behind the nearby counter. Above the store was a small living space, two beds towards the back divided by a blanket hanging from poles. There was a wardrobe in one corner and Leliana was making her way over to it. Aster was confused when the woman knocked lightly on the cabinet’s door.

“N-no one is here!” a small voice called back. Aster raised an eyebrow, moving closer and holding up her flamed hand.

“It’s okay,” Leliana said gently, “You can come out of there, Bevin.”

“H-how...How do you know my name?”

“Your sister asked us to look for you,” Leliana said.

There was a long pause and Aster stepped forward, but Leliana gave her a look that clearly meant to stay quiet. A moment later, the cabinet door opened slightly and Aster saw a small sliver of a little boy’s face peeking out from the crack.

“K-Kaitlyn sent you?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, we met her at the chantry,” Leliana said gently, holding out her hand to the wardrobe, “She’s very worried about you.”

“She is?”

“Why don’t you come on out of there, Bevin?” Leliana asked, “We can take you to your sister. You shouldn’t be wandering around on your own.”

Bevin stared at them through the crack for a moment, then slowly pushed the door open and climbed out of the cabinet.

“There we go,” Leliana said softly, “See? We’re not going to hurt you.”

The boy gave a shy smile and Aster could not help but note how good Leliana was with the boy. Of course, she had been living as a Chantry Sister for a few years. She probably had to interact with children often.

Bevin looked over to Aster, his eyes widening in fear. Aster was confused as to his reaction until she realized he was looking at her hand, still cradling the flame she had summoned. Aster immediately let the flame die, but Bevin had already hidden behind Leliana, peeking out from behind the woman nervously.

Aster fidgeted a little. She knew people feared mages. She had been taught that for the last twelve years in the Circle. It was why she had been hiding her magic. Yet she had never seen the fear first-hand. Seeing this little boy be frightened of her when she had not spoken a single word was an unsettling feeling.

“Go ahead and take him to the Chantry,” Aster muttered, “I’ll go find Atlan.”

Leliana opened her mouth to say something, but Aster had already ducked down the stairs. She hurried on out of the store and down the docks, reaching up to grip the ring hanging on its leather strap around her neck, only to remember she had tucked it under her armor after nearly losing it the day before when she was training with Alistair. She frowned, her fingers brushing against the leather of her armor over her chest. Sighing, Aster made her way down the docks and noticed Atlan with Zevran and Sten at a nearby house, Zevran knelt down and working the lock on the door. Aster glared. They did not have time to find a lost boy, but could break into houses?

Aster turned away from them, starting back for where the militia was training. Maybe she could mention the oil to someone there. Though as she walked, her mind kept going back to Bevin and the fear on his face when he saw her using magic. Actually seeing the fear mages brought was very different than simply hearing about it in the Circle. Not all mages were dangerous, however. She wanted to help others, not be feared by them.

Maybe there was something she could do to help this. Maybe helping stop the Blight, maybe if people knew mages stood against the darkspawn...Once this Blight was over, people would know not all mages were to be feared. Magic could be used to save people and mages were fighting against the Blight. She could help change opinions. Leliana once told her there was a reason she was no longer at the Circle, a reason the Maker wanted her to travel now. Maybe, just maybe, this was the reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a long-ish wait for a chapter. Honestly, I got distracted by marathoning some games, heh. That and when I was writing, I was trying to get past my block on my Mass Effect story since it's been so long since I updated it...Anyway, here's a new chapter! Hope you enjoyed!


	10. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aster has a talk with Zevran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a long wait. A lot of personal family issues have been taking a toll on me, leaving me unable to focus on writing much even when I've been desperately wanting to get back to this. I'm hoping to get more focus on this as time goes on though.

Aster spent the day busying herself helping the militia fortify barricades, hurrying from place to place. She tried to ignore the stares she often got, the glances that went to her ears. It was astonishing the people who would turn away help simply for the shape of the ears of the person offering it. Redcliffe, however, did not have much choice. Aster noticed there were a couple of elves among the militia, though they were keeping to themselves rather than interacting with the others.

The entire village grew tense as the sun began to set over the village. Aster was pacing at the base of the windmill, occasionally glancing up at the castle nearby. Waiting for a fight to come was a different feeling all together. On the road traveling, attacks seemed to come out of nowhere with no warning. Aster reacted on instinct. Now, however, she knew what was coming. She knew that any moment, undead would be coming down that hill. She would be expected to prepare a fire and set ablaze the barrels of oil that had been moved from the store on the docks. Aster had not felt this restless since the night before her Harrowing.

“Nervous, my dear Aster?”

Aster tensed at Zevran’s voice, glancing over at him. She was not ‘his dear’ but she doubted telling him so would get him to stop calling her that. He did it to everyone.

“It’s perfectly natural to be nervous in a situation like this,” Zevran said, “Only a fool would not be.”

“So that explains why you’re so calm,” Aster muttered, apparently louder than intended because Zevran threw his head back with a laugh. Aster felt her face grow warm.

“Maybe I am just better at masking my feelings,” Zevran said, “You must remember that I am a man of stealth and secrecy. Large battles like what is to come tonight is not my way of fighting.”

Aster looked over to Zevran, admitting to herself that he had a point—something she was not going to tell him directly. She had seen him fight when they encountered bandits and he was always quick with the blade, but he was an assassin. They were not meant for large battles.

“We have all done what we can,” Zevran continued, “What happens next is up to the Maker.”

“ _You_ believe in the Maker?”

It was Alistair who spoke. He had apparently been listening nearby while sharpening his sword under a tree.

“Of course I do,” Zevran turned to Alistair, the offense clear in his voice, “Antiva is full of very devout people, in our own way.”

“But...you kill people,” Alistair said, “For money.”

“And I ask forgiveness for my sins from the Maker every chance I get,” Zevran replied, ”What manner of monster do you think I am?”

“You could find another career,” Aster said.

“Doing what?” Zevran asked, “Tell me, what sort of work can an elf get in Thedas? We are not particularly welcome, after all.”

“I’m sure you’d find something,” Aster muttered. Probably thievery, knowing Zevran. He did not seem the honest type.

“The Maker has never objected to my choices,” Zevran went on, “Why should you?”

“I...have no idea,” Alistair admitted, frowning at Zevran.

“Well, there you go,” Zevran said cheerfully, “Perhaps you ought to think about asking for a little forgiveness yourself, hm?”

Zevran turned and walked off with that, leaving Aster and Alistair behind. Aster sighed, shaking her head in frustration.

“Interesting fellow,” Alistair said after a moment, turning back to sharpening his sword.

“Is it bad I’d rather set him on fire than the undead?” Aster asked, plopping down in the grass next to Alistair. Her armor rattled slightly and she made a face. That had not been a smart move.

Alistair laughed, looking up to Aster again as she adjusted herself to sit with her legs stretched out in front of her.

“I wouldn’t tell if you did,” he said, looking back at his sword again, “I don’t know why Atlan brought him along.”

“Maybe he thought an assassin would be helpful,” Aster said, digging into her pack for a piece of dried meat. She was surprised by a familiar warmth emanating from the bag and pulled the bag closer. Among her items was a small vial of blood, glowing warmly in Aster’s hand as she pulled it from her pack, her heart racing.

“What’s that?” Alistair asked.

“My phylactery,” Aster said in disbelief, letting the small vial roll against her palm. She could easily feel its warmth through her armored gloves.

“You stole it?”

“No!” Aster turned to Alistair, her voice high, “It was sent to Denerim before I escaped the Circle. Zevran had it.”

“Why would he have it?”

“Because someone knows I’m traveling with you,” Aster whispered, “The Chantry thinks I’m a blood mage. They probably used me to track you.”

Aster turned the small vial in her hand. The question she had was why would Zevran give it back to her? _When_ had he sneaked the small thing into her pack? She had thought he wanted to hold on to the phylactery, use it to have something to hold over her. Yet here it was, in her hand. Why had Zevran given up a hold over her?

“You know,” Alistair said, “You smash that, you could be free. Never have to worry about the Templars.”

There was an odd tone to Alistair’s voice and Aster noticed he was watching her closely, studying her. It was an expression she had seen many times in the Circle. Alistair may not have taken vows but he was still a Templar—no matter how much he tried to claim otherwise. That was something that would never change.

“I don’t know what I’ll do,” Aster said slowly. She pulled a bit of cloth from her pack and wrapped the vial carefully to hide its glow  as she stood up again.

“Where are you going?”

“To figure out what Zevran is up to,” Aster replied, heading off in the direction Zevran had went earlier.

It did not take long to find Zevran. He was by the Chantry, talking with Sten while the giant sat on the steps, polishing an elaborate great sword that was definitely not the one he had been using before. As she got closer, she noticed unfamiliar, intricate designs and symbols along the hilt and grip.

“Where did you find that?” Aster asked, momentarily distracted from Zevran. Though she did notice he was looking to the wrapped vial still in her hand and smirking.

“A dwarf had it,” Sten answered shortly, “It is mine, however. Given to me before I came to Ferelden.”

“Why did a dwarf have it?”

Sten looked up with a glare that told Aster that the conversation was over. Aster tensed, taking a step back and Zevran was suddenly on his feet, looping his arm around Aster’s shoulders. She glared at him.

“I’m sure you have something more important to talk about than Sten’s sword,” he said, leading Aster away from the Chantry. She ducked out of his arm but still allowed Zevran to lead her to the docks.

“I take it you wish to talk about what’s in your hand there?” Zevran asked with a smirk as he leaned against one of the buildings, crossing his arms over his chest. Aster’s face flushed but she steeled herself, watching Zevran closely.

“Why did you give it back?” she asked, “You made it clear you wanted to use it against me.”

“That was when I thought you were a blood mage,” Zevran replied simply. Aster stared at him in disbelief.

“And I happened to overhear your tale to Leliana,” Zevran went on, “What you did for your friend, despite the accusations against him.”

“You were _spying_ on me?” Aster’s voice rose and her hands tightened into fists. That was supposed to be a conversation for Leliana only.

“Not  necessarily,” Zevran gave a shrug, still leaning on the wall, “I was still in earshot when you began speaking and I’ll admit, I was a bit curious.”

“So you could find something else to blackmail me with?” Aster hissed.

“Because I wish to know about those I travel with,” Zevran replied calmly, “And, if you mind me saying, you have been making that rather difficult.”

Heat rushed to Aster’s face. She knew Zevran was right. She had been rather hostile towards him since they met. She told herself that it was because he was an assassin, a rather annoying one at that. Still, a small voice in the back of her mind pointed out that, aside from being annoying, he had not done anything hostile towards her the way she had been towards him.

_‘Except for keeping your phylactery,’_ a small voice said.

But he had given that back.

_‘After eavesdropping on you,’_ the voice said again.

Because she had been cold towards him.

_‘Because he had your phylactery!’_

“Is everything all right?”

Zevran’s voice snapped Aster out of her self-argument. She looked up to see him watching her closely, though his posture was still rather relaxed as he leaned on the building’s wall, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m fine,” Aster muttered, reaching for her necklace only to again remember it was tucked under her armor, “Why would what I did for Jowan matter so much to you?”

“I happen to admire loyalty,” Zevran said, his gaze locked on Aster. The intensity of his amber eyes was beginning to make her uncomfortable and she looked away, staring down at the vial in her hand.

“Funny statement coming from someone who’s betrayed the Crows,” Aster said softly.

Zevran did not respond. When Aster looked up, she could have sworn something had changed in his expression. Though the moment he caught her looking, his face shifted back to that cocky smile of his as he pushed himself away from the wall and stepped closer. Aster tensed a little, though Zevran simply reached out and took the wrapped phylactery from Aster’s hand. He unwrapped it, holding the vial up so that its glow flushed his face in red in the dim after-sunset darkness. Aster found herself staring despite herself. There was something in the look in his eyes that she could not figure out and it nagged at her.

“Then let’s just say you deserve to be free,” he said softly, studying the vial, “Someone like you should not be held against her will, not by Templars, not by anyone.”

Zevran handed the phylactery back to Aster and turned, walking off back towards where the militia was beginning to prepare. Even with her eyesight better than humans in the dark, she could barely see Zevran as he disappeared among the shadows. She did not know what to think of the assassin anymore. There seemed to be a lot more to him than she originally thought. Had she been wrong about him? She did not know how she felt about that.

Aster looked down at the vial Zevran had handed her. Alistair’s words from earlier came back to her and she knew he was right. All she had to do was drop this vial and she was free. She had seen how frail the glass was when she had watched Jowan destroy his just months ago. It would be extremely easy. She started to spread out her fingers, the vial lying in the center of her palm. All she would have to do was tilt her hand to the side. One little slip and the vial would fall...

Aster’s heart raced as she closed her fingers over the vial again. She did not know why but something held her back. She could not break the fragile little glass. Shaking, she rewrapped the vial and returned it to her pack. She did not know what she would do but for now, she could not bring herself to betray everything she had been taught for the past twelve years.

_Someone like you should not be held against her will. Not by the Templars, not by anyone._

A loud horn blared through the evening air and Aster jumped with a yelp.  Her heart began racing for a completely different reason as she pushed into a run towards the windmill where she and Alistair had been moments before.

The undead were coming. The battle was about to begin.


	11. Battles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aster deals with a headache.

By the time Aster reached the windmill, the small militia was standing ready, watching the nearby hill. They all looked as nervous as Aster felt and she noticed one elf with a bow was actually trembling and muttering prayers to himself.

“You, elf, are you ready?”

Aster turned to see one of the few Redcliffe knights still in the village watching her warily.

“Shouldn’t you have a staff?” he asked, “I thought all you mages had staves.”

Aster’s face grew warm.

“We don’t need them,” she said, taking a deep breath and stepping forward, “When should I set the oil on fire?”

“Wait until they’re too close to avoid it,” the knight said.

Aster nodded, squaring her shoulders and began pulling at the Fade. She could feel her hand growing warm as the heat built up, wisps of smoke beginning to form. From the corner of her eye, Aster noticed a couple of the militia watching her warily. She tried to ignore them but was well-aware of their stares. It made her uncomfortable.

The wait was agonizing. Everyone was silent save for the one elf muttering prayers. Five minutes went by, then ten. Aster stayed tense, keeping her hold on the Fade and occasionally glancing to the wisps of smoke rising from her hand. Alistair came up next to Aster and smiled encouragingly. Aster tried to smile back but could not quite make her face agree.

“They’re coming!” A Templar nearby called, “Stand ready!”

Aster took a deep breath, trembling as she pulled her hold on the Fade tighter the smoke around her hand forming into a fireball. She felt the heat licking against her fingers but kept her focus to stop the fire from burning her.

She felt the creatures before she saw them. An overwhelming sense of death closing in around her and whispers pulling at the back of her mind.

Demons. Not nearly as strong as the one she faced in her Harrowing, though there were far more of them. And each one possessing the corpse of some poor soul. There were a dozen of them in the first wave. Aster was trembling, watching as the creatures came closer.

“Mage!” the templar called, “Fire! Now!”

Aster nodded, drawing her arm back and then threw the fireball out in front of her. The felt her hold on the Fade trail off as the fire moved further away. It slammed into the puddle of oil and instantly, a roaring blaze separated the militia from the undead. The scream that came from the blaze was agonizing. Aster shuddered, taking a step back. She felt a hand on her shoulder and glanced up to see Alistair next to her, his face drawn and serious.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “We’ll get through this.”

Aster nodded, turning back to the roaring fire. As she did, she noticed movement among the smoke and dancing flames. The corpses had not fallen. Instead, they came shambling out of the fire with clothes and flesh burning away from their bodies.

The smell was sickening. Burning, rotting flesh assaulted Aster’s nose to the point that she doubled over, retching though nothing would come up. She had eaten little that day so there was little on her stomach to begin with.

 “Aster, watch out!”

Aster looked up just in time to see a tattered shield coming down towards her—

Things came in flashes as Aster slipped in and out of consciousness. Voices shouting. Being dragged across the ground. A string of curses in a foreign language. The shouting suddenly becoming muffled and the sound of a door slamming. The smell of damp hay in an area of dim lighting. Then, complete darkness.

* * *

Sunlight filtering through a dusty window pulled Aster back to consciousness. She sat up slowly, wincing at the throbbing pain in her head. The battle the night before was a jumble of blurry memories and it took some time for her thoughts to clear.

She was in the Chantry, sitting on a cot among several injured militia men as a Chantry Sister made her way from one person to the next. She noticed Aster was awake and hurried over towards her.

“Good, you’re up,” she said briskly, “Now, if you don’t mind, I need that bed for people who are actually injured. Get out.”

“What—”

The woman had Aster by the arm, pulling her to her feet. Aster hissed and raised her free hand to her aching head, stumbling along as she was led to the door and unceremoniously shoved out into the main room of the Chantry. She stumbled and would have fallen if not for a strong arm wrapping around her back to steady her.

Aster muttered a thanks as she was led to a pew nearby and she sat down. Glancing up, she was surprised to see her helper had been Zevran, of all people.

“You shouldn’t be up yet,” Zevran said, “Tsk, tsk. Stubborn one, aren’t you?”

Aster stared blankly at Zevran, her mind slow to process what he was saying. And the fact that he had been there to catch her and keep her from falling on her face. Why was he helping her? Why had he been hanging around? Glancing around, she did not see anyone else from their group in the Chantry. Most who were in this room were people praying and Zevran did not seem to be the type for prayers—at least not public ones.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Zevran sounded concerned as he sat next to Aster on the bench, “You look very pale.”

“My head hurts,” Aster muttered. She rested her hand against the side of her head again and winced at how tender the spot was.

“Well, of course,” Zevran clicked his tongue as he spoke, “You took an undead warrior’s shield to the side of your face. Anyone would have a headache after that.”

“I what?” Aster glanced up at Zevran and winced.

“Don’t you remember the battle last night? Up near the windmill?”

Aster frowned, looking to the ground. She remembered the anticipation, waiting for undead to appear. They were staying to help defend Redcliffe. Aster looked around the room quickly, again wincing at the pain in her head.

“What happened?” she asked, “Where is everyone?”

“Ah, good, you’re coming to your senses,” Zevran said, “Everyone is fine, Aster. They are outside helping with repairs. I had come in to check on you, and just in time. You are not in any condition to leave right now. Why even try?”

Aster held her tongue, not wanting to let Zevran know that it had not been her choice to leave. Her mind was clearing, however. Aside from the pounding headache, she felt fine.

“I’m fine,” Aster said, pushing herself a bit unsteadily to her feet, “I just need something to eat. What happened in the battle?”

“Well, we won,” Zevran was quickly by Aster’s side. Aster wondered if he was waiting for an excuse to ‘help steady her’ again. She just hoped he would not have wandering hands.

“And?” Aster asked.

“And you should be resting,” Zevran stated.

Aster huffed in annoyance and made her way to the Chantry doors. Again, Zevran followed close behind. This only made Aster’s headache worse. She heard Zevran sigh and looked up to see him digging into a pouch hanging from his belt before handing over a small group of leaves. Aster could tell right away that it was elfroot. She raised her eyebrow at Zevran.

“What?” he asked, “If you insist on wandering around, you might as well chew some to help with that headache.”

“You’re being suspiciously helpful,” Aster said as she took the plant. She studied it closely, making sure they hadn’t been tampered with before putting the leaves in her mouth. She winced at the bitter taste but knew it would help settle her headache soon.

“I can’t help those I travel with?” Zevran asked.

Aster made a face—partly from the bitter taste, partly in response to Zevran—and turned to head out of the Chantry. She stepped out into the daylight, wincing again at her throbbing head, and looked around. It was cloudy and had the feel of rain in the air. Aster was hoping rain was all that would come. She spotted Leliana sitting on the edge of the Chantry’s porch, talking with a group of children. Aster made her way over and reached her friend just as Leliana finished the tale of how Redcliffe got its name. She noticed Aster and smiled before turning back to the children.

“I think that is enough stories for today, children,” Leliana said, “Why don’t you run along and play now?”

None of the children looked too happy with this, but they all slowly left. Aster made her way over to her friend and sat down next to her.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed still?” Leliana asked and Aster sighed.

“Please don’t start,” she said, “I’ve already listened to the complaints from Zevran.”

“Yes, I saw him following you,” Leliana said, glancing towards where Zevran was nearby. He seemed to finally stop following Aster and was now talking with a couple of women. Aster glared at him before turning to Leliana. The woman had pulled out a dagger and was cleaning it, despite the fact it was never used. Aster had seen her taking care of that dagger a few times before as well. She wanted to ask, but she had something else she wanted to talk about..

“He gave me back my phylactery,” Aster said softly.

“Did he, now?” Leliana asked in surprise, “Why would he do that?”

“He overheard me telling you about Jowan,” Aster said softly, “And said someone like me didn’t deserve to be under anyone’s control.”

“I see,” Leliana said an odd sort of tone to her voice as she studied Zevran nearby, “He is a curious one, isn’t he?”

“Annoying more than anything,” Aster muttered.

“Oh come now,” Leliana said, “He isn’t that bad. He just takes some getting used to.”

Aster snorted. She doubted she could ‘get used to’ Zevran.

“Ah, there you are.”

Aster and Leliana looked up to see Atlan moving towards them, still dressed in his Dalish armor with his pike strapped across his back. Come to think of it, Aster rarely saw him out of armor.

“Is something wrong?” Leliana asked, rising to her feet.

“I’ve talked with your bann,” Atlan said, “He gave me a key that leads to a secret passage to the castle. But there’s a problem.”

Aster frowned a little. She was beginning to notice that Atlan had a habit of separating himself from Ferelden society. It was never ‘the arl’ or ‘the Chantry’ it was always ‘your leader’, ‘your Chantry’, ‘your Circles’. Aster was not sure what to think about that.

“There’s always something, isn’t there?” Leliana asked with a dry sort of smile.

“What’s wrong?” Aster asked.

“Your arl’s wife showed up,” Atlan said, “She says there’s a demon up in the castle, summoned by a blood mage who came from Denerim. Your bann has already left with the woman, but he wants us to sneak into the castle to try and save the others.”

A blood mage from Denerim? A sinking feeling settled in Aster’s stomach as she stared towards the castle in the distance. Could it be Jowan?

“And you want me to come along?” Leliana asked.

“I figured your skills would be best,” Atlan replied with a nod, “This will require a degree of stealth, though Alistair and I must go. I would love your help, Leliana.”

“I would like to help,” Aster said, “If this man is a blood mage, I need to come.”

“Are you sure?” Atlan asked, “Zevran said you were injured pretty badly. You might not have recovered enough.”

“I need to do this,” Aster said quickly, “I...I think I might know who this blood mage is. I knew one who said he was going to Denerim. If he’s here now...”

Atlan was watching Aster closely now, frowning as he seemed to think things over. Finally, he gave a nod.

“All right, falon,” he said, “Get your armor and meet us at the windmill.”

“Right away,” Aster said, hurrying off.

If Jowan was actually here...Aster did not know what would come of this, but she needed to know. She needed to face her former friend again.


	12. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aster encounters an old friend.

By the time Aster was in her armor, it had started raining. Thunder rumbled in the distance, making Aster uncomfortable. She had always hated storms.

Atlan, Alistair, and Leliana were waiting inside the windmill. Alistair looked up as Aster entered, bangs stuck to her forehead from the rain.

“Atlan said you think you might know the mage here,” Alistair said warily, “I wasn’t aware you were familiar with a blood mage.”

Aster felt her face warm and she avoided looking at Alistair. She caught Leliana’s eye and the woman gave her a reassuring smile. Aster took a deep breath and looked back to the others.

“I didn’t know he was a blood mage,” she said, “Not until he used blood magic in front of me. I parted ways with him and he said he would be going to Denerim.”

“You can tell us what you know of him on the way through the passage,” Atlan said, pulling open a trap door that had been hidden under a pile of straw, “Your bann says time is sensitive.”

So Aster ended up telling the full story of her escape for a second time while the four made their way through a narrow underground passage. She told Atlan and Alistair the same thing she had told Leliana weeks before, from Jowan’s relationship with Lily to the betrayal of him knocking out Templars and their First Enchanter with blood magic and how she only left the Circle because she was afraid of being made Tranquil.

By the time she finished the story, the four had reached the end of the tunnel. Alistair’s face was drawn into a frown and he looked as if he wanted to say something but was keeping it to himself. Atlan was watching Aster closely, however.

“Couldn’t you have explained that you did not know he was a blood mage?” he asked.

“They wouldn’t take the chance that I was lying,” Aster replied, “It was well-known that Jowan and I were close friends. They would take the assumption that I knew and was protecting him, and probably was a blood mage myself, rather than take the chance and let me be.”

“You can’t be blamed for wishing to live, falon,” Atlan said.

Aster nodded and looked to Leliana. The woman gave her a soft smile and a reassuring squeeze of her shoulder. She was incredibly grateful that Leliana was here.

Atlan turned away, feeling along the wall until he found what he was looking for. He pulled a latch and a small bit of the wall swung away about a foot and Atlan managed to nudge it a bit further. Just enough for Atlan to squeeze through and Aster and Leliana followed behind.

Alistair, however, had more trouble. Much larger than elves or a small human woman and much bulkier due to his armor, Alistair became stuck in the small opening.

“Um, a little help please?” he asked sheepishly from where he was wedged halfway through the opening, one arm pinned between his chest and the wall.

With the combined efforts of two elves and a human—and a bit of lamp oil from Leliana’s bag—they were able to full Alistair free of the wall. Alistair frowned as he poked at the scrapes and oil that now covered the front of his armor.

“Why is that opening so narrow?” he whined, glaring back at the hole they had just squeezed through, “Some escape tunnel.”

“Maybe you’re just getting fat,” Atlan teased, “Have you seen how much you eat?”

“Look who’s talking! Who was it that ate four bowls of that stew they gave us last night?”

“I’m a growing boy,” Atlan replied with a shrug, “Come on, let’s get going.”

They had come out into a small storage room filled with crates. It seemed the passageway had not been able to open fully because a large, sealed crate was pressed to the door. Alistair pushed on the crate to move it away from the hidden door, then the four made their way on out of the storage room.

The following room was clearly a dungeon. Several small cells lined the walls of the hallway, all of which seemed empty save for the final one. A young man was sitting in the corner of his cell, head between his hands. Even in the dark, Aster recognized the figure.

“Jowan,” she said weakly. Even with her suspicions, she had been hoping she was wrong. If Jowan had not been here, there could have still been hope for him. Now, however, there was undeniable proof of the problems he had caused. Problems that were leading to the destruction of a noble family and an entire village.

Jowan looked up, shock clear on his face. He scrambled to his feet and hurried to the door of his cell, staring at Aster with wide eyes.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, then seeing Atlan, Alistair, and Leliana, “Who’re they?”

“I’m a Grey Warden,” Atlan said sharply, stepping forward, “I’ve been asked to help discover what’s happening here.”

“Oh, I see,” Jowan said slowly, watching Atlan, “I know what this must look like, but I’m not responsible for what’s going on here!” He turned to look directly at Aster, “I promise you, I’m not!”

Aster folded her arms over her chest and tried to keep a blank face, but her chest felt tight and her breath caught in her throat.

“Like you promised you weren’t a blood mage?” her voice broke despite her attempts to hide how much Jowan’s actions had hurt her, and how much it hurt to see him locked up now.

Jowan winced, looking away.

“What happened here?” Atlan asked, “Undead have been attacking his village every night.”

 “I don’t know!” Jowan cried, “Maybe…” he paused, how brow furrowing in the way Aster recognized as her former friend trying to figure out a problem, “Maybe it was Connor…”

“Arl Eamon’s boy?” Alistair asked, “What does he have to do with this?”

“He…He started showing signs of magic,” Jowan said, “The arlessa was afraid of losing her son to the Circle, so she hired me to tutor him. Give him enough to hide his magic from everyone, including his father.”

“The fledgling is a mage?” Atlan asked in disbelief, “And you think he caused all this? A fledgling?”

“He must have found one of my books,” Jowan said slowly.

“And why would Connor summon demons?” Aster asked sharply, “Were you teaching him blood magic?”

“No! Of course not!” Jowan’s face went pale, “He must have been trying to help his father—”

“Arl Eamon?” Alistair was now right at the cell door, gripping the bars, “Does this have to do with his illness?”

“Falon, calm down,” Atlan rested a hand on Alistair’s shoulder.

Aster only stared at Alistair. She had never seen him grow angry—at least, not outside of battle. Even in his arguments with Morrigan, he tended to keep more to snarky and sarcastic. His reaction now was almost terrifying. She could clearly see this young man as a Templar and she did not like that feeling.

Alistair took a deep breath and stepped away from the cell.  Atlan took Alistair’s place, watching Jowan closely. Jowan looked to Aster, though she was determined not to give him any comfort. She kept her arms crossed over her chest—though she was starting to hug herself rather than look stern—and tried to keep eye contact. She felt a hand on her shoulder and glanced up to see Leliana next to her and Aster relaxed a little.

“It’s no coincidence that I came here,” Jowan said slowly, “I…I was captured by Templars just outside Denerim. I thought I was going to be taken back to the Circle and made Tranquil. Instead of the Circle, however, I ended up in front of Loghain.”

“Loghain?” Alistair straightened up, “What would he want with a mage?”

“He knew about Connor,” Jowan said, “I don’t know how, but he knew the arlessa was looking for someone to tutor Connor in magic. He offered me a chance at freedom. Loghain said if I got into the castle and poisoned Arl Eamon, he would let me go.”

“So you would be free, at the cost of someone else’s life,” Aster said, trying to sound harsh but her voice was barely a whisper, “What does it matter that a man is dead, as long as you are free?”

“Aster—”

“I would still have a home if it weren’t for you!” Aster hissed, moving forward, her hands now gripped at her side, “You _used_ me to get what you wanted and would have been perfectly fine leaving me to face the consequences of your actions! I would have been left to face the Templars after helping a blood mage, I had no choice but to leave! I lost my home, lost my safety, because of _you_!”

“The Templars don’t protect anyone—”

“They saved my life, and you damn well know that!” Aster shouted, “You know what blood magic did to my family and you still used it!”

“ENOUGH!” Atlan stepped between Aster and the cell, resting a hand on Aster’s shoulder, “Calm down, falon. You are safe with me. I will not let Templars harm you.”

Aster did not realize she was trembling until that moment. Hot tears stung the corners of her eyes and she took a deep, shaky breath. She looked to Jowan, who seemed determined to stare at a spot on the ground, his shoulders hunched. Aster looked back to Atlan.

“S-sorry,” she muttered.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Atlan said softly, “Do not worry, falon.”

Aster nodded, taking another deep breath and reaching up to wipe the tears from her eyes. Atlan nodded and turned back to Jowan.

“The question remains what to do with you,” he said, “You poisoned your arl, and in turn his son went through your books and summoned a demon. This is your fault, no matter how you try to separate yourself from it.”

Jowan merely nodded.

“For now, I think it would be best to leave you in that cell.”

“Wait!” Jowan looked up quickly, “I want to help.”

“Haven’t you done enough?” Aster asked sharply, her voice still shaking. Tears still dampened her cheeks.

“What could you do to help?” Atlan asked cautiously.

“I don’t know, exactly,” Jowan said slowly.

“So you want me to release a known blood mage who poisoned your arl and was secretly teaching a fledgling magic?” Atlan asked, “And you do not even know how to help?”

Jowan opened his mouth, then closed it again. It was clear that he did not have an answer. Atlan turned to Aster.

“He was your friend once,” he said, “What do you think we should do?”

“What?” Aster asked weakly.

She looked over to Jowan. What was she supposed to say? This was the man who had been her closest friend in the Circle, practically a brother to her. Yet he had betrayed her, forced her from her home. He had nearly destroyed her life.

“Should we leave Jowan here or allow him to help?” Atlan asked, watching Aster closely.

“I...I don’t know,” Aster whispered, looking to Jowan. He was staring at her, a begging look on his face. Yet he also seemed worried.

“I’d say we leave him here,” Alistair spoke up, “Once we have everything sorted out, we can let Arl Eamon decide his fate. Besides, he’ll only make things worse.”

“Either way, we should decide,” Leliana said. She had remained silent until now. “Time is of the essence and we must get to the throne room.”

“I think it will be best to leave you here,” Atlan turned back to Jowan, “We do not have time to break the lock, or keep an eye on you while we go through the castle.”

“Aster?” Jowan called.

Aster could not bring herself to look at her former friend. If she did, she would lose her resolve. She had to stand by Atlan’s orders.

“Aster, please...”

Atlan was right, Aster told herself. Jowan would only make things worse if they let him free. Or maybe he would try to escape, leaving them to clean up his mess. He had done that to her before, after all.

“Let’s get going,” Atlan said, “We don’t have much time.”

Aster held herself tense, following Atlan and the others from the dungeon and further into the castle. She was still trembling, her face damp from tears that were now flowing freely. Coming face-to-face with Jowan had been a lot more difficult than she expected.

Yet walking away from him, leaving him in that cell, was by far the hardest choice she had ever made.


	13. Into the Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they meet a possessed child.

They made their way out of the basement with no incident, though Aster was trembling. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had made a mistake. What if she should have defended Jowan? What if she should have convinced Atlan to let Jowan help, or to let him escape all together? Jowan had been her closest friend in the Circle. She should have stood by him. She felt like she was betraying him. How did that make her any better than he was?

“You did the right thing, falon,” Atlan said, slowing his pace to walk beside Aster, “That human has dabbled in magic best left alone, and you have seen what he has done to others here. He deserves to stay in that cell.”

“I’m not so sure,” Aster muttered.

“I’ve seen what trouble old magic can cause,” Atlan said and there was a clear bitterness in his voice, “Even by accident. That man chose to partake in what’s forbidden. He has gone down a path that one cannot return.”

“No one is beyond redemption,” Leliana spoke up, “We all make mistakes.”

“There are some things that cannot be forgiven,” Atlan replied sharply.

Leliana looked as if she were going to argue but a loud scream came from up ahead. All four broke into a run down the hallway. As they reached the door to the end of the hallway, Alistair rammed his shield into one of the doors and it caved inward. Aster barely got a glimpse of what was clearly a Chantry room before her attention was drawn to a group of undead moving towards the podium on one end of the room.

They made quick work of the undead, the momentary scuffle distracting Aster from her troubles. Once the last undead fell, Aster went to sheath her sword but Atlan caught her wrist.

“Keep your weapon ready,” he said sharply.

Aster nodded slowly, gripping the hilt of her sword tighter.

“Wh-who are you?”

Aster and Atlan both turned to see a young human woman staring at them from around the edge of the podium. Her dark eyes were wide with fear as she stared at them through a mess of blonde hair that was tangled around her face. It was clear that she had not been keeping up with herself for several days.

“Are you all right?” Leliana moved forward, her bow still gripped in her hand, “It must have been hard, staying alive in this castle for so long.”

“I’ve been hiding,” the girl’s voice was shaking and she remained crouched in her spot, “Ever since those things began attacking...I locked myself into a storage room. But I was growing hungry and tried to make it to the kitchens. These...these creatures...”

“Hush, it’s all right now,” Leliana said softly, “You’re safe. We’ve taken care of the undead.”

“They’re gone?” the woman asked, “All of them?”

“Yes,” Atlan stepped forward, “Do you work here?”

The woman’s eyes widened as she looked to Atlan, taking in the dark marks decorating his face. She instantly ducked behind Leliana. Atlan raised an eyebrow at her, then looked to the others.

“Dalish aren’t particularly in good regards,” Leliana explained, then turned back to the woman, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Valena,” the woman said, “I’ve worked here as a maid for a few years now.”

“Valena?” Atlan asked, “The smith’s daughter? He asked us to find you while we were here.”

“My father sent you?” Valena inched out from behind Leliana, but Aster noticed she kept her hands on Leliana’s shoulders. Leliana looked rather amused at the situation from the expression she had when Aster caught her eye.

“I promised him I would look for you,” Atlan replied.

Aster was surprised. Atlan had not mentioned anything about searching for someone in the castle, nor had he said anything about the village’s smith. Why was he bringing it up now, only after the girl had been found? And why had he been willing to search for a young woman here when he saw no point in trying to find a lost child the day before?

“Can you take me to him?” Valena came out fully from behind Leliana and moved towards Atlan. Apparently her wish to be reunited with her father outweighed her fear of Dalish.

“I’m sure you can make it on your own,” Atlan said, “We’ve cleared the way back to the dungeon and you can find a passage there leading to the village.”

“A passage?” Valena’s eyes widened, “Lady Isolde never said anything about a passage. I always knew she was rotten, sneaking around with that tutor she hired!”

“You mean Jowan?” Alistair asked, stepping forward now.

“Yes, that’s him,” Valena said, “I’ve seen the two of them hiding in corridors and empty rooms, talking in hushed voices several times. Once I even overheard part of their conversation. They were talking about how important it was that Arl Eamon never found out what they were up to.”

Atlan looked over to the others. It was clear they thought the same as him. It had nothing to do with any sort of affair Valena was imagining. She had overhead them talking about Connor and his lessons.

“Thank you for your help,” Leliana said gently, “You should go, I’m sure your father is eager to have you back.”

“Yes, thank you,” Valena said, already making her way towards the door, “Thank you again!”

And she was gone, hurrying back towards the dungeons to escape the castle. Aster couldn’t help but think at least they were able to save someone in the castle.

“Let’s get going,” Atlan said “Where would the throne room be? I’ve never been to one of your castles.”

“This way,” Alistair said, “I remember the castle pretty well.”

They let Alistair take the lead, heading through the castle. They encountered a few undead, but they were easily dispatched. Aster found the castle eerily quiet as they walked, signs of the devastation all around them. There were no bodies, but blood stained random areas of the rugs or walls. The feel of magic saturated every room they passed through, pressing in on Aster. It made her shiver and, looking to Atlan, it was clear the presence was bothering him as well.

“The room is just here,” Alistair said as they approached a door at the end of one corridor. He reached for it, then frowned. “It’s locked.”

“Here,” Atlan stepped forward, placing his hand against the handle. Aster felt the Fade begin to shift and the metal on the door glowed, then melted away. Atlan nodded, pushing the door open and headed through.

Aster glanced at the others before following, though they all stopped once they made it into the throne room. On the far end, Aster noticed a man in noble clothing was dancing around and doing cartwheels, a blank sort of expression on his face. Behind him, sitting on the throne, was a young boy—no more than eight or nine—with brown-blond hair and dressed in noble clothing as well. Next to the chair was a woman dressed just as finely, and clearly the boy’s mother. Where the boy was smiling and clapping to the man’s dancing, the woman was hunched over and hiding her face.

The boy looked up, noticing the group who had just entered the room.

“So these are our visitors?” he asked, his voice sounding much older than natural for a boy his age, “The ones you told me about, Mother?”

“Y-yes, Connor,” the woman next to him said slowly. So this was Lady Isolde.

The man—who Aster took to be Bann Tegan—stopped his dance and crouched on the floor next to Connor as the boy rose to his feet and walked forward, his gaze on Atlan.

“And this is the one who defeated my soldiers? The ones I sent to reclaim my village?” Connor asked, cocking his head to the side, “And now it is staring at me! What is it, Mother? I can’t see it well enough.”

Isolde looked over at the group, a desperate plea in her expression. Aster fidgeted a little, glancing to the others. Alistair was frowning while Leliana looked horrified. Atlan, however, had a carefully blank expression on his face.

“This...This is an elf, Connor,” Isolde said slowly, “You remember elves.”

“Of course I remember!” Connor snapped at his mother before turning back at the others, a wicked sort of smile on his face, “I cut off their ears and fed them to the dogs!”

Aster felt sick, subconsciously reaching for her own ear. Connor started laughing. The demon was clearly enjoying itself.

“So,” Atlan said calmly, “This boy is the evil you spoke of.”

“No! Don’t say that!” Isolde cried out, stepping in front of her son, “Connor didn’t mean to do this! It was that mage, the one who poisoned Eamon—he started all this! He summoned this demon! Connor was just trying to help his father!”

“It was a fair deal!” Connor cut in, pushing past Isolde, “Father is alive, just as I wanted. Now it’s my turn to sit on the throne and send out armies to conquer the world! Nobody tells me what to do!”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Atlan stepped forward and Aster felt him pulling at the Fade again, “I’m here to make sure you let go of that fledgling, demon.”

“No! Don’t hurt him!” Isolde cried.

Aster went cold, staring at Atlan in shock. Was he actually about to attack Connor, just to be rid of the demon?

It seemed the demon thought so. Connor’s face contorted, shifting to one of fury. He threw his hands out and Aster realized a moment too late that a spell had been thrown at her. She felt herself knocked from her feet and to the floor, the room seeming to shake around her. When she finally managed to push herself back up, Connor was gone.

“Tegan!” Isolde rushed to the bann, who seemed to have been released from his hold. Tegan sat up with a groan, holding a hand to his head.

“You knew about this all along,” Atlan said cooly, glaring towards Isolde, “You lured us into a trap.”

“No!” Isolde cried, “I...I didn’t tell you about Connor because I believed we could help him. I still do. We must!”

“I do not know if we can save him,” Tegan said softly, “Demons do not listen to reason.”

“He still ran,” Aster spoke up, “Demons are out to protect themselves. Atlan posed a threat, so the demon ran.”

“Where did he go?” Atlan demanded.

“I think he ran upstairs,” Tegan replied, “To the family quarters.”

“Violence...scares him,” Isolde was wringing her hands together now, starting to rock slightly on her feet, “I know that sounds strange. He may have run up to his room.”

Atlan looked over to the others, then sighed and turned back to Tegan and Isolde.

“So what do we do now?” he asked, “If we can avoid it, I wouldn’t want to harm a fledgling.”

A thought began to form in Aster’s mind, one that filled her with dread. Yet, if it saved Connor...

“I...I might know a way,” Aster spoke

A up softly, “When we go through our Harrowing, we enter the Fade to face a demon, fight off possession. Someone can do that for Connor here, enter the Fade and face this demon.”

“You do realize we need lyrium for that?” Alistair pointed out, “A lot of it.”

“I know,” Aster replied softly, “And we can get it, at the Circle.”

Isolde looked hopeful and Tegan straightened up some.

“The Circle is not far,” he said, “A day’s journey by boat, we can have one prepared and you can leave at once.”

Atlan, however, was watching Aster closely.

“And your Circle will just hand over lyrium because we ask?”

There it was again. _Your_ Circle, just like before with ‘your bann’, ‘your nobles’...Aster hated how Atlan seemed to determined to separate himself from the rest of Ferelden, as if being Dalish made him better. This was not the time to argue it, however.

“I will go,” Aster said softly, “I’m willing to help.”

Atlan looked as if he were about to say something, but stopped as he glanced to Isolde and Tegan.

“I think I will step outside to talk with my associates about who will go,” he said, “When will you have the boat prepared?”

“Within the hour,” Tegan promised, “Choose who you wish and meet us at the docks.”

Atlan nodded and motioned for the others to follow. Aster’s heart was racing, but she fell into step behind the others.

Much to Aster’s relief, it was no longer raining as they made their way back down to the village. She didn’t want a storm raging overhead to mess with her nerves even more.

“You do realize the dangers of returning to your Circle,” Atlan spoke up, “You said they believe you to be a blood mage.”

“Yes,” Aster said softly.

“Alistair was once a templar,” Atlan added, “I’m sure he will be enough to do negotiations.”

“He doesn’t know the Circle like I do,” Aster replied, “I know the people there, who’s in charge. And...And I think I have to do this.”

Kinloch Hold had been her home for years. In an odd way, she wanted to return, despite the danger it posed to her. Maybe, just maybe, she would be able to explain herself. Tell Senior Enchanter Irving the truth of what happened. Maybe she could be forgiven.

Maybe she could be accepted back?

Oddly, the thought didn’t fill her with the hope she had expected it to. She found herself wanting things set right with the Circle, but the thought of returning to the familiar walls when she felt like she was being useful elsewhere...

“I can do this,” Aster said finally as they reached the gates of Redcliffe, “I want to do this.”

Atlan studied Aster closely, then finally nodded.

“Very well,” he said, “Let’s go talk with the others, find out who else is going.”


	14. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aster returns home.

Zevran and Alistair were the only ones joining them across the lake. Alistair had insisted his help was needed, being a former Templar. Zevran, however, Aster had no idea why he was coming along. And she was in no mind to ask. She spent the entire trip across the lake in the cabin of the boat, curled up on her bunk with a book in her lap. Thankfully, the others seemed willing to leave her be. She was especially surprised that Zevran was keeping his distance. He always seemed particularly keen on annoying her. She was grateful either way, however. Returning to Kinloch Hold was something she did not think she would ever be doing, especially a mere two months after escaping.

Had it only been two months? Aster sighed, staring out the window by the table she was sitting at. Two months ago, she and Jowan were sitting in a rowboat, desperately trying to get to the nearby docks before Templars were able to catch up. One month ago, Aster had been in Lothering, where she met Atlan and the others. Now, here she was, returning to Kinloch Hold.

The door to the cabin opened and Aster looked up to see Alistair there, looking a bit uncomfortable.

“We’re about to dock at the tower,” he said, “Are you sure you—”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Aster rose to her feet, her heart racing harder now, “I think I have to do this.”

Alistair nodded, heading back out onto the docks. Aster took a deep breath and followed behind, finding Atlan and Zevran were both watching the tower they were slowly approaching.

Aster moved to the railing of the boat, staring up at the tower. The last time she saw it had been at night, barely able to make out her home as she left it for what she thought would be forever.

Kinloch Hold was always an impressive sight. A tower that, well, towered over Lake Calenhad on its small island, pieces of a broken bridge spanning from it to the shores of the lake nearby. The sun was beginning to set, casting the entire sight with a fiery orange glow that made Aster feel nervous. She was coming home. She couldn’t believe she was here.

Aster became aware of eyes on her and glanced over to see Zevran watching her closely. It was the same unreadable look he’d had on the Redcliffe docks after she confronted him about the phylactery, and again when she came out of the infirmary at the Chantry. She hadn’t thought much on it—too much was going on—but now thinking back, she couldn’t help but wonder why he had been in the Chantry. He hadn’t been injured and Aster doubted he was the praying sort. So why had he been there?

Zevran’s unreadable expression slowly morphed into that smirk Aster was beginning to know too well. She suddenly became aware that she’d been staring at him and felt her face grow warm, turning back to the tower as the boat slowly came to a rest at the Kinloch Hold’s docks. She wasn’t going to give Zevran the satisfaction of getting to her yet again.

“Well, here we are,” Atlan said, studying the tower closely, “Let’s hope we can get some help.”

Aster nodded, her chest tightening as she followed the others off the boat. Her legs felt as if her bones were suddenly liquid, each step a struggle to take. Her hand went to the ring on the leather strap around her neck, gripping it as if that would give her some sort of strength.

“I won’t let them do anything to you, falon.”

Aster yelped, looking to Atlan next to her. He had slowed his pace to match hers, walking alongside her now.

“As long as you travel with me, you will be under my protection,” Atlan said, “Under Grey Warden protection. You are one of mine, and I take care of my own.”

Aster felt tears stinging the edge of her eyes. She opened her mouth to try and thank Atlan, but nothing would come. Instead, she gave him a weak smile and nod, hoping he understood just how much she appreciated his offer.

As they approached the doors, Aster could already tell something was wrong. There were no Templars standing guard. Alistair took notice as well, frowning as his hand went to his sword.

“There should be Templars stationed at the door,” he said, “I don’t like this.”

An odd sensation similar began to tug at Aster. Kinloch Hold had always held a magical charge to it, the Veil thinner because of the countless mages that passed through the doors. This, however, was not the feel of magical buildup from learning students. It felt wrong, dangerous, tainted...Very similar to how Redcliffe had felt with the undead bearing down on them. This was not the feel her home was supposed to have.

As they entered the tower, the entrance hall confirmed that all was not well. Several Templars were gathered around, some in what seemed like a make-shift infirmary and others hurried from place to place, treating injuries and taking turns guarding the door that Aster knew led to the apprentice dormitories. What happened to her home?

“Do not open those doors without my express permission, is that clear?” a familiar Templar was barking orders to the others and Aster subconsciously sank back behind Atlan and Alistair.

Knight-Commander Greagoir turned, noticing the others and made his way over to them.

“What’s going on here? I told that idiot Carroll not to let—” he cut off as his gaze went to Aster, trying desperately not to be noticed, then to Atlan, who was glaring at the Templar, and finally to Alistair and his shield. “Oh for...”

Greagoir rubbed his temples, eyes closed for a moment before looking back to Alistair.

“Look, I’m pleased to see you doing your duty, ser, but we are in no condition to bring in more mages,” Greagoir looked to Aster, “Or deal with escaped blood mages.”

Aster tensed, keeping her gaze away from Greagoir. Atlan, however, stepped forward.

“Aster is one of mine and I will not let you imprison her,” he hissed, “I am a Grey Warden and we are here with treaties demanding an alliance for this Blight.”

“And to ask for help with a possessed child in Redcliffe,” Alistair added with a glance to Atlan.

Greagoir’s face flushed red as he tensed, pulling himself to his full height.

“You show up here, unannounced, with a blood mage in tow,” Greagoir stated hotly, motioning to Aster, “And not only tell me you have not brought her for punishment, but are also demanding aid?”

“As is the Grey Warden’s duty,” Atlan said sharply.

Aster stared at him in surprise. She had never seen him be so hostile towards another, not even with Jowan. She had often heard of tension with Dalish and Templars, but she didn’t expect it from Atlan given his relationship with Alistair.

“Knight-Commander,” Alistair stepped forward between Atlan and Greagoir, “What exactly happened here? Why’re you barring the doors? Where are the mages?”

“The Circle has fallen to abominations,” Greagoir said, “We have retreated for our own safety—”

“What about the other mages?” Aster asked, her voice trembling, “They can’t all be dead. They can’t have all fallen to possession—”

 

“What do you care of the Circle?” Greagoir cut in, “You abandoned our teachings the moment you left with that blood mage!”

Aster sank back behind Alistair again and Atlan’s gaze narrowed.

“What happened to the mages?” Atlan asked, his voice almost a growl. He hadn’t reached for his weapon, but there was an air of intimidation around the Dalish as his gaze was narrow and focused on Greagoir.

“We have sealed off the doors,” Greagoir said instead of answering, “And are waiting on word from Denerim to conduct the Right of Annulment.”

“What?” Aster’s voice became shrill, her eyes growing wide, “Annulment? You’re just going to kill everyone in there?”

“I doubt there are any survivors anyway,” Greagoir said, “Everything in this tower must be destroyed so it can be made safe again!”

“You know damn well mages are stronger than that!” Aster shouted, “They can’t all be dead!”

Greagoir scoffed, his gaze harsh as he focused on Aster.

“I see being away from the Circle has made you too bold,” he said, his voice dark and level, “I remember before you fell to blood magic, you were a respectable example of a mage. You’ve forgotten your place.”

Aster flinched, sinking back again. It was true she had never been defiant to Templars before, but the thought of losing all those she knew...

“Aster is no blood mage,” Atlan hissed, “And I will be going into that tower to save whatever mages I can find. And when I return, you will hold to the Grey Warden treaties.”

Greagoir—despite being a full foot taller than Atlan and wearing heavy plate compared to Atlan’s light Dalish leathers—finally sighed, shaking his head.

“Fine, if you insist on this suicide run, I cannot stop you,” Greagoir said, “But now you’re demanding something in return afterward? And you expect us to ignore the blood—”

“She is _not_ a blood mage,” Atlan growled.

“Not that this arguing isn’t quite the entertainment,” Zevran spoke up, crossing his arms over his chest, “But shouldn’t we be more concerned with the abominations in the tower?”

“Exactly,” Alistair looked relieved at the attempt to end the arguing, “Just let us into secure the tower. We can argue about details later.”

Greagoir sighed, shaking his head.

“Fine, you have until the Right of Annulment arrives,” he said, then turning directly to Aster, “Consider this a chance to make up for your actions with Jowan. Help clear the tower and maybe we’ll overlook your transgressions.”

“O-of course, ser,” Aster mumbled, sinking behind Atlan again and keeping her gaze to the floor.

“Find First Enchanter Irving,” Greagoir said, “I will only believe the Circle is safe if he is standing alive before me.”

With that, the group was finally allowed through the doors leading into the apprentice quarters of the Circle Tower. As soon as the doors closed behind them, Aster sank to the floor, her last bit of willpower draining from her. Her entire body was trembling, her stomach rolling. She knew returning would be difficult, but she had not expected things to be so bad. She wasn’t sure how she was going to get through this.

Aster felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Alistair had squatted down next to her, a concerned look on his face.

“I...I’m fine,” Aster managed, shakily pushing herself to her feet, “Its’ just...This was not what I expected. And now the abominations...”

“We’ll save your Circle,” Atlan said, “But we need to get going. From what we’ve seen, we don’t have time to waste. You know this tower, we need you.”

“Y-you’re right,” Aster said, taking a deep, shaky breath, “Let’s go.”

The apprentice quarters was quiet, though otherwise looked exactly the way Aster remembered. Bunkbeds filled the halls, each with a footlocker on either end. Desks lined the walls and Aster knew the alcove towards the end would lead to a bathing room. But where was everyone? Aster refused to believe all the mages were dead. There had to be some alive—somewhere.

They found their answer in the chamber just beyond the apprentice quarters. A handful of mages—mostly children—had set up a type of camp around the central statue. Aster became aware of eyes turning to them as they entered the room and an elderly woman in red robes grabbed her staff. When she turned to them, Aster recognized her instantly.

“Senior Enchanter Wynne?” Aster moved passed the others, stepping towards the mages, “You’re alive? I thought—Ostagar...”

The elder woman’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then widened slightly in recognition.

“You’ve returned to the tower?” she asked, the caution clear in her voice, “Why did the Templars let you through?”

Even though she didn’t speak it, the question was clear: Why would the Templars let in an apostate, especially one believed to be a blood mage?

“Despite what everyone thinks, the Circle is my home,” Aster said, “I want to help.”

“We came seeking the aid of the mages,” Atlan stepped forward, “And when we heard what was happening, we cannot stand by and do nothing.”

Wynne didn’t lower her staff. She studied the group, her eyes going to the Templar symbol on Alistair’s shield.

“So the Templars have sent you in to attack the tower?” Wynne’s voice hardened, “Have they invoked the Right of Annulment?”

“Not yet,” Aster said, “They’ve sent for it, but it hasn’t arrived.”

Aster noticed one of the mages—she thought her name was Petra—shuddered and pulled closer one of the children sitting next to her.

“And I’m trying to keep them from following through,” Atlan added, “Your knight-commander said if I can find some man named Irving and bring him back down alive, he will call off this Annulment.”

Wynne studied the group closely, then sighed and lowered her staff.

“Then the task ahead of us is clear,” she said, “I will help you, once Greagoir sees that we have made the tower safe, I trust he will tell his men to back down. He is not unreasonable.”

Aster glanced over towards Petra and the other mage with the children.

“Will they be safe here?” she asked.

“Petra and Kinnon will watch them,” Wynne stated, “If we slay all the fiends we encounter on our way, none will get by to threaten the children.”

“I’m always up for killing a few demons,” Atlan said, pulling his pike from where it was strapped across his back.

“Wynne, are you sure you’re all right?” Petra stepped forward, a concerned look on her face, “You were so badly hurt earlier. Maybe I should come along?”

“The others need your protection more,” Wynne smiled softly, resting a hand on Petra’s shoulder, “I will be all right. Say here with them...keep them safe and calm.”

Petra was still frowning, but she gave a small nod and stepped back again.

“Be careful,” she said.

“You as well,” Wynne turned towards Atlan, “Are you ready to go? I will remove the barrier and we can be on our way.”

“We’re ready,” Atlan said, “Remove the barrier.”

Wynne nodded and turned towards the barrier, a light glowing on her staff. A moment later, the barrier fizzled and faded away. With that, the group headed further into the tower. Aster’s stomach twisted into knots again. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to like what they found up ahead of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are great, but I also enjoy reviews and feedback!


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